Skin and Bone
by artistic mishap
Summary: During the course of her trial, all Shepard's skeletons come tumbling out of the closet. James doesn't quite know how to deal with the revelation that one of his heroes is actually human - or that he might actually like her better this way.
1. The Circus in Three Rings

**A/N:** This is a little – okay, not so little – story that I've been crafting for a few weeks now. I have about another 15,000 words waiting on my hard drive, but due to my inescapable habit of not finishing longer stories, I tried to get at least halfway before posting anything. This chapter is pretty straightforward, but I'm going to be experimenting with structure overall – please, let me know what works and what doesn't. Enjoy!

* * *

_**Prologue: The Circus in Three Rings  
**_

James Vega stands at ease behind Captain – no, wait, sorry – Admiral Anderson at the docking bay waiting for the Normandy to arrive. Beyond security, he can see the miniature flashbangs of press cameras, hear the clutter of voices and the pounding of fists against the unbreakable glass. Behind him, four marines stand to attention, each casting baleful looks in the direction of the swarming press. They're all thinking the same thing as James – namely, _what a fucking shit show._

He doesn't envy Shepard. In his books, the woman's a goddamned hero. You gotta respect a soldier who pulled herself up from nothing to make something of herself. Hell, before she became Savior of the Citadel or whatever she was called now following the relay incident, the vids had talked about her miraculous survival on Akuze. Miraculous, that's what they called it. James would bet his left ball it was something closer to fierce determination. He was still in basic when it happened, when he looked up in the mess to see the unholy mess that was Shepard's face for the first time on the vid screen.

When he got his first facial scar – the real bad one – he thought of her, wearing that blue and black tie-dye face. If Shepard could rock it, so could he.

The _Normandy_ drops from the sky, hovering down to the docking bay. She was soft spoken and curved in all the right places, and while James had a natural affinity for dreadnoughts – their size, their firing capabilities, you know, the basics – he had to admit that the _Normandy_ was one damn sexy ship.

"You remember the run-through?" Anderson asks without looking over his shoulder.

"Yes, sir," replies James with a nod. Those butterflies are waggling their little wings on his insides, and he can't help but be annoyed. A grown man, a commissioned officer, a mean left hook in a bar fight, and he's acting like he's waiting for his prom date. He shakes his head slightly to try and regain his mental balance, hoping that Anderson doesn't notice. There's a slight smile on the Admiral's face that says his hope is in vain.

The airlock hisses open, and there she is. Leigh Shepard emerges with her hands held high. Her blue eyes are bright in the paleness of her face, but there's something about her that makes James think she'd tan up real nice if she just spent some time in the sun. She's wearing the same research smock he's seen on scientists, and though James isn't complaining at the way it hugs her body close. Throughout her career, it was shaved close – a by-product of special missions groundside, he suspects. Now it's curled into a bun at the base of her neck and dark the way he likes, if, you know, he thought of Commander Shepard that way, which he definitely doesn't. But _if_, hypothetically speaking, he _did_ think of her like that, he'd have to admit she's kind of a babe.

As she moves forward, she inclines her head at Anderson.

"Admiral," she says. Though she's giving the universal signal of surrender, James can't help but think he's never seen anyone look less frazzled than the Commander does right now.

Anderson crosses his arms, tilting his head at Shepard. "Commander," he says, looking her up and down. "Can't remember the last time I saw you out of fatigues."

Shepard looks herself over. "Well, these happened to be the only thing in my quarters not stamped with the Cerberus logo, so." She shrugs. "Black and gold were never really my colours."

"Really?" drawls Anderson, inclining his head towards the giant Cerberus symbol painted on the side of the ship.

Shepard follows his gaze and scowls. "Yeah, well, unfortunately, I had to put my credits towards upgrading the ship instead of redecorating. Thannix cannons and Silaris heavy ship armor are not cheap, I'm telling you." She sniffs and scratches her nose. "Surviving the Omega-4 relay seemed a little bit important than the Normandy's tramp stamp."

Right then is when James decides this prison warden gig might not be so bad after all.

He jumps at Anderson's bark of laughter all the same, though the Admiral squashes it down as soon as he's able, visibly trying to force his expression into one of disappointment instead of amusement. He and Shepard stare each other down, and it's like they're having this whole conversation that neither James nor the other marines are privy to. James wonders, not for the first time, exactly what the relationship is between the Admiral and the Commander. There's been scuttlebutt for years that the two were somehow involved – romantically or sexually or both – but James doesn't think that's it, and not just because these two aren't stupid enough to pull that sort of thing.

Let the rumour mill say what it wants, but James has spent enough time with Anderson these past few weeks to know that whatever the Admiral feels for Shepard, it's not romantic in nature. From what little he's seen of Shepard, he wouldn't be surprised to see her bleed Alliance blue. Anderson too, for that matter.

Shepard's expression battens down, and she holds out her wrists. "Let's get this over with, then."

With one gesture from Anderson, James moves forward, pulling the cuffs from his belt. He snaps them on her wrists, and can't help but notice how thin they are under her gloves. Shepard raises one eyebrow at him, and glances past him to Anderson, who watches the whole scene with perfect neutrality.

"And you are?" she asks.

Those butterflies are doing kamikaze runs at the sides of his belly when he says, "Lieutenant James Vega, ma'am."

Her mouth pulls to one side. "They hoping to intimidate me with a big strong marine, Lieutenant?"

The back of his neck grows slick. "I really couldn't say, ma'am. You'll have to ask the Admiral over there."

The airlock hisses open again, and a man hobbles out. Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau, thinks James, recognizing the man from Shepard's dossier. She glances back at the _Normandy_, and James can't interpret her expression. Moreau stands as tall as he's able and gives the Commander a salute. "Good luck out there, Commander."

Shepard tries to return the gesture, but what with her hands being cuffed together, it's a bit of a pointless exercise. "Take care of yourself, Joker," she says, and then adds with a meaningful glance, "and our girl too, got it?"

Moreau – Joker? - snorts. "Like you even have to ask, Commander." He twists his body to see beyond, a dark humour settling on his features. "Anderson, hey! Long time no see!"

"Joker," says Anderson, like he's tasted something sour. James wonders what the deal is there, but wisely keeps his mouth shut. "Alliance personnel will be by shortly to take you for processing."

"Well, isn't that ominous sounding. All, _did you know solyent green is made of people?_" At Anderson's expression, Moreau holds up his hands. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Damn, there goes my clever plan to, you know, run to safety with my well-defined parkour skills."

Shepard lets out an amused sigh but turns and marches towards Anderson. Startled, James follows after her, gripping the top of one of her arms so he can at least look like he's doing his job. She glances to his hand, to his face, and then with what seems to be an invisible shrug, continues on as though she can't feel him at all. James feels like a dick for even laying hands on her – she's a goddamned hero – but it's not going to do anybody any favours if it seems like she's getting off easy.

"Now, Shepard," says Anderson, "We have to parade your ass through that press storm outside."

"Great," says Shepard with not an ounce of enthusiasm. "Have I mentioned I'm not great with reporters?"

James snorts before he can stop himself, earning nearly identical expressions from both Shepard and Anderson. He opens his mouth to apologize, but they've both already moved on, Shepard looking up into the face of her mentor. She's smaller than he thought, the top of her head reaching about his chin. They walk brusquely towards the terminal, the marines following in formation behind.

"Why are you here, anyways?" she asks Anderson. "Aren't you supposed to be hobnobbing with the bigwigs, or something?"

"Or something," says Anderson, dryly. "When I heard how imminent the Reaper attack was, I thought I could do more good back here. They've promoted me to Admiral."

"Congratulations," says Shepard, her voice softening in a way it never did in the vids. A beat passes, then, as her silence grows more concerned. "So, then, who's on the Council?"

"Udina."

Shepard stops short, and James almost runs into her. She barely notices. "You left the prince of the three year olds as humanity's representative just before the Reaper invasion?" Boy, does she sound angry.

"I didn't leave anything," says Anderson firmly. "He was elected by the Alliance parliament."

"Just proves politicians are idiots," says Shepard, resuming her pace. "He's never going to get anything accomplished between all his whining and arm waving."

Anderson says nothing, but there's a distinctly blank expression that says he agrees with Shepard. James knows it isn't his place, knows that he understands fuck all when it comes to politics in general, but he would sure feel a hell of a lot better if someone like Anderson were still on the Council. Politicians always make him uncomfortable, and call him crazy, but if a race of evil sentient machines are coming for them all, he'd like to think that there was someone in charge who knew what war was all about. From what little he's seen of Udina, well, the guy's no soldier.

The press push against them like a tidal wave when they pass through security, each attempting to shout Shepard's name louder than the other in the hopes of getting noticed. A few call out Anderson's name too, but whereas Anderson has mastered the art of looking at no one while wading through the crowd of people, Shepard does the opposite. She meets their faces, their cameras, with full-on stares in a battle of wills. James has to acknowledge that the woman's got balls – uh, figuratively speaking.

They make it to the shuttle, herding Shepard inside first where James has the unfortunate task of shackling her handcuffs to the shuttle wall. When he finishes, she levels that stare on him too, as if daring him to comment. He wants to tell her that even if he wanted to, he couldn't. It's not right, he'd say, but he can't – not with Anderson there, counting on him, and certainly not with the other marines. At least, in the long run, he's going to be sympathetic towards Shepard.

Which is exactly why Anderson chose him.

The shuttle takes off and sitting across from her, James can't help but notice how flat-out dangerous Shepard seems. With her hands cuffed, surrounded by marines with assault rifles, she should seem completely cowed. Instead, she regarded them all quietly, carefully, as if waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And if the tales were anything to go by, James had no doubt that she could do exactly that and probably take out most of them. Not him or Anderson, though. Shepard would never lay a hand on Anderson, and as for himself, well, there was more than one reason the Admiral came all the way to Omega to get him.

That didn't stop the marines from fidgeting nervously. James didn't know if it was hero worship or fear or what, but Hamilton in particular look like he'd been bitch slapped across the face. Poor kid. Probably still all hung up on idealism and shit. He'd learn.

"So how is this going to go?" asks Shepard, finally.

Anderson looked up from his datapad. "You're going to be taken to a detention facility pending the trial. Once that's decided, well." He frowned down at his pad.

"Okay, great," said Shepard, leaning forward as best she was able with her hands cuffed to the wall. "And what about the Reapers?"

James is sure he's not the only one shifting uncomfortably in his seat. There was a heat behind Shepard's eyes that he couldn't remember seeing on anyone else, except maybe his old XO just before that Collector attack. It's like she's going to burn up from the inside out with the weight of her hatred for these Reapers, her conviction that they're coming. Shepard, he decides, is the definition of a bad ass, and one he would not like to cross in a dark alley.

"I'm afraid that's classified, Shepard," says Anderson, with not a little regret. "But I promise you that I will do everything in my power to make sure we're ready."

Shepard sighed and leaned back, her eyes fluttering closed. "You better. I'd really hate to have an _I told you so_ moment as the planet's being harvested."

There's really nothing to say to that. She's right. James wasn't on the Citadel when it was attacked by Sovereign – hell, he's never even been close to the Citadel, spending his time in the ass end of space – but he saw the vids after. _Everyone_ saw the vids after, and that ship – that Reaper – well, it was a beast in the worst sort of way. Imagining a thousand of those fuckers dropping down on Earth should be enough to give anyone some military initiative, but so far the suits are a little too comfortable on those leather seats of theirs.

When they finally dock at Alliance HQ, James unlocks Shepard from the shuttle and, her arm in hand, helps her out. The brass are all standing up there in the wings, looking down on her, probably feeling pretty powerful right now. Unlike with the reporters, Shepard doesn't match their gazes. She keeps her head planted firmly forward, and James wonders what brought about this change. He doesn't believe for a second that she's admitting they're better than her.

She pauses when she realizes that Anderson isn't following. From inside the shuttle, the Admiral shakes his head. "I wish I could come with you, Shepard, really. Know that I've got your back but -"

"But for the sake of doing what needs to be done, you need to distance yourself," finishes Shepard, voice flat. "I get it." She squares her shoulders and makes as if to move on, but can't help swinging around one last time. A piece of hair has come loose from her bun and James wants to brush it away, the sight of it making his own forehead itchy, but he doesn't because he's her jailer not her friend. Shepard says, "Make it count, Anderson."

James leads her away, he wonders what that's supposed to mean. It could refer to anything – to Anderson's efforts, to her willing surrender of freedom, to their fleet's defensive. As they pass by a batarian dignitary though, his four eyes flashing angrily and mouth just barely baring those creepy long teeth they have, Shepard averts her eyes to the ground and James, well, he thinks he knows.


	2. One Year in Every Ten

**A/N: **As mentioned in the previous chapter, this story is going to do something a little different. I've been writing like a maniac trying to get it to a place where it's nearly finished, but the damn thing keeps getting bigger and bigger. In any case, I'd like to give a big _thank you_ to those who read and/or reviewed. Please continue to do so, leaving me comments about what you like or even what you find confusing. Thanks so much.

Oh, and I should mention that the chapter titles are all taken from three Sylvia Plath poems.

* * *

_**Chapter One: One Year in Every Ten [Case Report: Shireen Palomer]**_

**Trial of Commander Kayleigh Shepard**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00423X**

_[Palomer, 63, fidgets in her seat. She's seen better days, but has obviously done her best to tidy herself up. The suit she wears is threadbare but immaculately ironed, though it hangs awkwardly off her wire-thin body. Her bloodshot eyes flick between the interviewers, looking for any sign of sympathy.]_

TRIBUNAL:All right, Mrs. Palomer – just take it from the top.

PALOMER: The top?

_[Her fingers toy with her hair, attempting to push back a flyaway that doesn't exist_.]

TRIBUNAL: Tell us when you first met Kayleigh Shepard.

PALOMER: Oh, yeah, right.

_[She chews on her fingernail, revealing her slightly luminescent teeth – a clear sign she's been abusing red sand. A beat passes as this tribunal waits for her to begin.]_

TRIBUNAL: You were her foster mother, were you not?

PALOMER: Kayleigh? Yeah, sure. That was a long time ago, though. Don't know anything about her now. Don't know anything about batarians either. Never left Earth, me. Space is so, so _big_, you know?

TRIBUNAL: We're going to have to ask you to focus, Mrs Palomer. We're here to talk about Commander Shepard, remember?

_[Palomer nods, still chewing on her nails.]_

PALOMER: Always saw it coming, I did. She was always up to no good. Had a mean streak in her.

TRIBUNAL: Would you care to elaborate?

PALOMER: She ran away, too! Just like she did with the Alliance, I'll bet. I always saw it coming, I say – told everybody – that girl is up to no good.

_[Palomer tears up, bottom lip quivering.]_

PALOMER: It's not my fault, I swear. I didn't make her like this.

TRIBUNAL: Mrs. Palomer, nobody is claiming -

PALOMER: She started off so sweet, and I swear it's not my fault! I didn't do it! I didn't!

**o-o-o**

Kayleigh wished for a long time that her parents – her real parents – would come back and claim her. When she was a baby, she used to imagine that they'd forgotten her somewhere, that there'd been some sort of mix up, and that they were frantically searching for her. They'd show up one day in the dung heap where she lived and rescue her, and they'd take her far away and reveal that not only did she have a family, she was also a princess and totally rich and could have her own hover car too.

Only, Kayleigh wasn't a baby anymore. She was nine years old and tough – tougher than all the kids at school, that was for sure – and she knew that wishes didn't come true. Whoever her parents were, they weren't coming back for her. Might be, they were even dead. There was no way to know for sure, and it didn't really matter either.

The light outside the apartment building where she lived was on the fritz again, sparking on and off like Morse code. Setting down her paper bag full of groceries, she undid the safety pins that held her backpack shut and withdrew the key, sliding it home and turning it the special way that Shireen had showed her. The door liked to get stuck, and eventually Shireen had gotten tired of having to come downstairs to let Kayleigh in. One foot propped the door open while she bent down to pick up the bag, and then she was inside, the smell of mould, cigarette smoke and something like urine shooting through her sinuses.

With an arm wrapped around her bag, Kayleigh ran a hand over the stubble that was, until today, her hair and tried her best to ignore the tightness in her throat. Her lower lip quivered. Today, the nurse buzzed it all off with a sympathetic look. Kayleigh wanted to punch the woman in the face for that pitying expression – it wasn't like she didn't _know_ she had lice or that getting rid of her hair was the logical solution, but she also knew that everyone in her class was going to whisper to each other about it at lunch.

So really, it wasn't all her fault that when Billy Thorpe started picking on her, she kicked him in the nuts. Just like it wasn't her fault that when he punched her in the face and split her lip, she spat blood in his face. The principal hadn't been pleased and had forwarded a note to Shireen's extranet account.

_They're all bitches anyways._ She'd never say it aloud – that was a lesson she'd learned early – but Shireen's vocabulary was definitely applicable in this situation.

The apartment door wasn't locked, meaning Kurt was probably over. Kayleigh paused inside the doorway. Nobody could hear the door open over the sound of the vid in the other room, so she crept into the kitchen and unloaded the groceries as quietly as possible.

Shireen stumbled into the kitchen, blinking bleary eyes. She was so skinny, Kayleigh was able to drag a finger through the grooves between those ribs. Not that she'd ever do it when Shireen was awake; that would get her a slap for sure. Her foster mom didn't resemble "What the fuck happened to your hair?"

"Lice," said Kayleigh, putting the milk in the fridge. "Didn't want me to pass it on to the other kids."

"Maybe if you had a fucking shower every once in a while, it wouldn't be a problem," slurred Shireen, lighting up her cigarette with feeling.

Kayleigh let herself shrug, doing her best to keep her face down so that if, on the off-chance, Shireen hadn't yet found the note, she wouldn't know anything was up. There were about a million things that she could say in the face of that accusation, but she kept her mouth shut. She'd learned that early, too.

The second the older woman cleared her voice, though, it was clear that the gig was up.

"Anything else you wanna tell me?" asked Shireen, elbow propped up on the counter. One strap of her dress slid down her skinny arm, revealing a saggy, small breast.

"No," said Kayleigh.

"You know, nobody's gonna like you if you keep up that attitude." Kurt came up behind Shireen and wrapped his arms around her middle, pulling her close. His age was a mystery – younger than Shireen though, probably. His hair was long and dark, and he had a scar that stretched from one cheek to the other. One hand drifted lazily up to her breast. He raised one appraising eyebrow. "Too bad you lost your hair, too. It was your best feature."

"If they kick you outta school," said Shireen, in what Kayleigh always assumed must be her _motherly_ voice, "what are you going to do then, huh? You're not gonna live here for the rest of your life."

Kayleigh said nothing.

"Go on, get out of my sight," said Shireen, nodding towards the hall. Kurt watched with heady eyes from behind her.

Relief poured through Kayleigh's veins as she scampered away, locking herself in her room. The bed was unkempt and even the posters on the walls – of various rock groups and movies – couldn't hide the fact that it needed some TLC and badly. She dropped her backpack next to the door, knowing full well that she wasn't going to be homework tonight, and dug under her bed for her plastic box filled with pieces. Cross-legged on the floor, she began her own work: fixing an old omni-tool she'd found in the dump a few weeks ago.

They learned about omni-tools at school, but it wasn't like she could afford one for herself and Shireen wasn't going to buy her one either. Over the course of a few lunches, she'd snuck into the room where they were kept and dismantled them enough to understand how they worked. Never all the way, of course, because then she wouldn't have time to put them back together before a teacher found her or worse, some snitch discovered her plan and ratted her out. Still, it didn't look _too_ difficult, and she was sure that she could fix the old one, no problem.

Her fingers skittered across the letter she'd taped to the side of her box – an honest letter on paper! She knew the words by heart.

Once she fixed this, she was getting out of here. She heard some kids talking about living on the streets, and they were way less tough than she was, so if they could do it, she would do it better. Besides, if she could fix this omni-tool, maybe she could fix other things and then sell them.

Screwdriver in hand, she set to work.

**o-o-o**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00423X (Continued) **

_[Palomer has settled down substantially now, wringing her hands in her lap. Her eyes still flicker between the members of the tribunal, as if she's the one on trial.]_

TRIBUNAL: And she ran away soon after that?

_[Palomer nods, nearly hesitant.]_

PALOMER:I looked for her, really, but I couldn't find her. Even filed a police report! They've got records, you know, you can ask them.

TRIBUNAL: That won't be necessary. You say that she had a grasp of technology even then?

PALOMER: I don't know anything about that. Didn't. She never said a thing to me. Only after she was gone did I hear about it and find that letter.

TRIBUNAL: Letter?

_[Palomer reaches down and retrieves her handbag. Her fingers rifle through the contents, though she shoots wary looks at her audience as though afraid for them to see what's on the inside. She finally pulls out a piece of paper, folded and creased. A page comes and collects it, presenting it to the tribunal.]_

PALOMER: I kept it just in case, I don't know, in case she came back, I guess.

TRIBUNAL: Did she? Come back?

PALOMER: No.

TRIBUNAL: So you never saw her again?

PALOMER: Didn't say that, did I? Next time, she was with the Reds.

**o-o-o**

**Physical Evidence: Tagged – SP09.2163**

_Dear Mrs. Palomer,_

_ I am privileged to write this letter in support of my student, Kayleigh Shepard. Kayleigh has studied in my classroom for the past two years, during which time I have witnessed her incredible aptitude for technology. She grasps easily those concepts and applications that would've stumped many of my peers. Although her background is troubled, there is great potential for growth and success in her future. It is for this reason that I would like to nominate her for the Gregor Ivanovich Scholarship at your academy. _

_ If she were to receive this scholarship, her future prospects would be limitless. I have included the applications with the hope that you will sit with Kayleigh and fill them out._

_ Thank you so much for your time,_

[REDACTED]

**o-o-o**

Leigh woke up to Goro's arm around her waist, the stench of sweat all up in her face. With both hands, she pushed him away and climbed out of bed checking herself for hickeys or whatever. None. Good. It wasn't that she hated Goro exactly – he was a decent enough lay, but he always got so damn clingy. He wanted her to be his girlfriend or some shit, when it was clear that she was way out of his league. Like, lightyears. Like, if he was Earth, she was some spit of a planet in the Perseus Veil.

She sniffed at her pits and decided she didn't need a shower. Running a hand over her short hair, she searched for her pants, digging them out from under a chair. They were loose on her thin hips, so she cinched her belt to her custom made holes. Her shirt was missing, so she grabbed one of Goro's emblazoned with the name of some punk ass band that thought they were cool shit. It covered her tits though, and that was a plus.

If the snore from the bedroom was any indication, Goro was still blissfully unaware of her departure as she closed his apartment door behind her, hiking her backpack up on one shoulder. Her omni-tool bleeped, and she hit it.

Tybalt's face appeared, and Leigh had the sense to keep her hands down even if what she really wanted to do was smooth her hair and simper. She was fucking better than that. So she did her best to appear nonchalant in the face of the most beautiful man in the world, mentally stamping down her nerves.

"Hey boss," she said, propping her body against the wall. "What's cracking?"

He smiled, and it warmed her to know that it was all for her. "I got a job for you."

Her eyebrows shot up, and she couldn't quite keep the interest off her face. "A fun one?"

"Would I give you anything less?" Coordinates appeared on the vid. "Meet me here and we'll go over the details."

"Roger that, boss," she replied with a smile. The vid disappeared, and she couldn't help but do a small dance, pumping her fists. Then, remembering she was a badass and not a snot-nosed kid, she gathered herself and walked out of the building, not quite able to keep the bounce from her step. She swung down the decrepit steps, careful to keep her hands to herself because God knows what was on that railing, and swung out of the building. Some lady ploughed straight into her.

"Watch it, bitch," said Leigh, using a voice that scared even some of the toughest motherfuckers in the Reds.

The woman looked up, her dark brown eyes meeting Leigh's own blue ones, and Leigh felt herself grow suddenly cold. She stumbled back, all her happy thoughts melting away like an ice cube in a coffee pot. When Shireen grabbed her arm, Leigh yanked it away and moved back.

"Kayleigh?"

"Fuck this," Leigh said to nobody in particular. She turned, shoving her hands into her pockets and keeping up her trademark swagger, because hell if she was going to let Shireen – of all people! - know how badly shaken she was.

The bitch didn't know when to let things be and used one of her spiderlike hands to claw at the back of Goro's shirt. Leigh swung around, ripping herself from Shireen's grasp, and slamming her hand as hard as she could into the older woman's face. Shireen broke off with a wail, and Leigh found that she was panting and that when Shireen looked up at her with such a pained expression, an untamed rage erupted in her veins.

"You come near me again, I'll put a bullet in your head," warned Leigh, and meant it.

By the time she got to the coordinates she was given, she was pretty much calm. She'd stopped in a public restroom and made sure that her weaknesses weren't visible. When the hell had Shireen moved into that hell hole? Whatever – it didn't matter now. She wouldn't be going back regardless. If Goro wanted to his shirt back, well, he could damn well find her, couldn't he?

With scissors from her backpack, she cut off the collar and sleeves of Goro's shirt so that she at least looked a little bit fashionable even if her musical taste was in question. Tybalt had started paying her more attention, and while she wasn't going to be some sort of hussy – the image of Shireen near naked with Kurt waded into her mind and she scowled – she certainly wasn't going to be just one of the boys either.

She was better than anyone in the gang. She knew it. Most of the Reds knew it. Hopefully Tybalt knew it too.

He was in the back of a bar, and after knocking on the alley entrance, she was granted admittance. Behind his desk, his blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail. He smiled widely when she entered, going so far as to stand and hold out a chair for her. She knew she was blushing, but somehow she couldn't help herself.

Settling down, Tybalt clasped his hands in front of him, regarding her. She stared back, unflinching and hopefully just a tad bit sexy. "You ready for a solo run?"

There was no hesitation. "Damn straight."

Tybalt smiled.

**o-o-o**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00423X (Continued) **

_[Palomer pulls a pack of cigarettes from her purse, followed by a lighter. With shaking hands, she puts the cigarette to her lips and makes to light it.]_

TRIBUNAL: Mrs. Palomer, you can't smoke in here.

_[She looks up, surprised, as if she hadn't realized she wasn't alone. She slowly drops the lighter back in her purse but keeps the cigarette in her hand, rolling it between her finger and thumb.]_

TRIBUNAL: So you say she was with this gang, the Reds? How could you tell?

PALOMER: She had a tattoo. Red plus. Right here.

_[She touches a finger to her wrist.]_

TRIBUNAL: And was this the last time you saw her?

_[Palomer nods.]_

TRIBUNAL: Do you have anything else to add?

PALOMER: I didn't do it, you know. Make her that way. She was like that all along.

**o-o-o**

**FWD: **

**Criminal Record – Wade Marsi (Deceased)**  
**File: 2012571502**  
Name: Wade Marsi  
Aliases: Tybalt Granger, Red Banger, Wade Consuela  
Gender: Male  
Eyes: Brown  
Hair: Brown  
Country: United North American States  
Affiliations:10th Street Reds, Terra Firma  
Status: Deceased

**Offences**  
Case No: 25-153146-PQ  
Offence Date: 04/02/2158  
Offence: Weapons Violations  
Disposition Date: 17/05/2158  
Sentence:8 months jail, 2 years probation

Case No: 25-153146-PQ  
Offence Date: 25/11/2161  
Offence: Property Crime  
Disposition Date: 13/03/2162  
Sentence:1 year jail, 1 year probation

Case No: 13-253646-SL  
Offence Date: 08/08/2163  
Offence: Aggravated Assault  
Disposition Date: 21/05/2164  
Sentence: 3 years jail

**Notes:**

Subject key in many unsolved crimes. Purported to be head of the 10th Street Reds gang. SEE ATTATCHED.

ADDENDUM – Subject found deceased in known hideout. Possible foul play. Investigation pending.

**o-o-o**

All she could think was, _this is it. _

It felt as though every bone in her body had snapped. Leigh nearly vibrated with pain, her head swimming. Her vision was completely black, and while she normally would've waited it out, she didn't have that luxury. Somewhere in the very near vicinity, there was an angry turian and he was coming for her. Her legs refused to stand, even as her vision slowly returned, muddled like a chalk painting in the rain.

She might die here. Realism, at its finest. But if she failed, she might as well die anyways.

For nearly a year, she'd been Tybalt's favourite. She'd organized a few well-executed heists under his orders, taken out a few key players from rival gangs. Her sniping skills were already better than some of the Reds' hardened veterans. Combined with her self-upgraded tactical cloak, and she was quick, fast, deadly. Tybalt hadn't failed to notice, taking her first into his confidence, and then into his bed.

And though she still slept in his apartment, curled up in his sheets, the scent of him had long since disappeared. He'd been eyeing some leggy redheaded bimbo at the last few meetings, and Leigh couldn't say shit about it without seeming like a whiny bitch. So when he'd mentioned some turian at the embassies – some alien prick here to cement treaties or discuss colonies or some political bullshit that barely interested Leigh – she'd jumped at the chance.

"I'll take him out," she vowed, and for the first time in weeks, he'd given her that smile that was only hers.

She had to get back into his good graces – _needed_ to win him back. Period. End of story. There was no way she'd survive otherwise. No way -

Her rambling thoughts were cut short as the turian approached her. He stood over her, and she hunched over, arms protecting her middle, glaring up at him and trying to think of some way out of this fucking mess.

His mandible things twitched, and if he'd been human, she would've said he looked surprised. Hell if she could tell, for sure on his weird alien face. "Spirits," he said, "you're just a damn kid."

Because she'd only gotten mouthier, meaner, bitchier, she said, "Well, this damn kid broke into your suite without anyone noticing. Aren't you turians supposed to be like, the shit with security or something? 'Cause I'm not impressed."

It was all bravado, but that was the only thing she had left. If life had been kind – it wasn't, and she had evidence in spades – his face would've been less fucked up, and she would've been able to read his expression. He inclined his head slightly, his green eyes flickering down to her arms. Leigh pulled her shirt down protectively, resisting the urge to fidget, to tell this alien that she wasn't into that xenophilia crap. She should've, but she was still thinking that maybe, maybe she could get out of this.

She couldn't help but be startled when he moved away from her, though he never presented his back to her. He sat in a chair opposite her, folding his mutant hands in his lap.

"Why are you here?" he asked. "You with some pro-human organization?" When she said nothing, he tried a different tactic. "What's your name?"

Leigh slid herself into a standing position, hands cradling her belly. The turian had tossed her like a rag doll, sniffed her out under her cloak or something. All her limbs felt stiff, and she was sure she was going to be bruised the next day, her stomach worst of all.

She didn't answer his questions, but asked one of her own: "Are you going to kill me?"

The silence stretched between them, thick with something Leigh couldn't name. Finally, he keyed something into his omni-tool. A picture of another turian – nearly identical down to the tattoos, except this one had blue eyes – popped onto the screen.

"This is my son," said the turian.

Leigh snorted. "What, is daddy playing matchmaker now?"

The turian's voice was hard when he spoke again. "He's probably about your age – and he's the only reason I'm going to let you walk out of here. One chance. You come here again, and -"

"You'll kill me, yeah, yeah," said Leigh.

But the turian shook his head. "Worse – I'll hand you over to the authorities. I bet they'd have a lot of questions for you."

She almost couldn't believe what she was hearing. Stumbling forward a step or two, she shook her head. "You're just letting me go? Why?"

His eyes snaked down to her belly, then back up to her face. Leigh's mouth went dry. "Go," he said.

And she did.

**o-o-o**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00423X (Continued) **

_[Palomer sits erect in her chair, eyes scanning the crowd past the tribunal.]_

TRIBUNAL: Thank you for taking the time to come in today, Mrs Palomer.

_[Palomer regards them with wide, frightened eyes. She manages the most timid of smiles.]_

PALOMER: Are we done, then?

TRIBUNAL: Yes, we're finished.

PALOMER: Can I... I just wanna say, you know, that what Kayleigh did doesn't surprise me. Have I mentioned she was always a mean one?

* * *

**Next Chapter: **Shepard asks James for a favour.


	3. Stasis in Darkness

**A/N: **This chapter is slightly shorter, but we are once again back with Shepard and James. For those of you who appreciated the humour – more will be coming! It's got to be a balance, I feel – this wouldn't be all fun and games, no matter how much fun that would be to write. I also promise that most of the backstory/testimony that appears in this story is important for James' and Shepard's future friendship ( - more?).

Thanks so much to my readers and my reviewers – please keep it up! Nothing makes me happier than hearing constructive feedback.

* * *

_**Chapter Two: Stasis in Darkness**_

James sits just behind Shepard as the first day of the tribunal draws to a close. That wisp of a woman on stage, it's clear she's a junkie and he dislikes her as much as any person he's never met. As much as he loves humanity – and he does, and not just because they invented _huevos rancheros_ or the football season or action flicks – sometimes, he can't help but realize what pieces of shit human beings can be. Here this woman had the future saviour of, well, fuck, maybe everyone by the time this thing's over – and what does she do? Treats her like a goddamn criminal is what.

That Shepard is, technically, a criminal is fucking beside the point. She wasn't _then_. She was a kid.

His eyes trace Shepard's back. None of the vids made mention of her colourful past. Sure, there's mentions aplenty that she was born on Earth, and that her early life wasn't exactly a cake walk, but nothing to this extent. Clearly, James has to reassess the Commander. She's still a badass, but now there's this extra layer of respect that she even managed to turn out to be a semi-decent person.

He knows. It's not like his life was terrible – especially not when levied against what he just heard – but, well, after the fiasco with his old man, James is sometimes surprised that even _he_ managed to be mostly okay – key word being mostly, here, 'cause if anyone knows his faults, it's him – and he supposes what he's getting at is, damn, where would they have been if Shepard had stayed on Earth all those years ago?

How did it happen? All this duster in front of them said was that Shepard (_Kayleigh_, the woman had said, but it just sounded wrong to James' ears after hearing _Leigh Shepard_ for the majority of his adult life) had joined a gang. Obviously, sometime between when Palomer saw her last and Shepard's eighteenth birthday, something shifted.

He's curious. Who wouldn't be? But he knows he's not really in a position to ask Shepard anything. He's her guard, not her best friend. Not even her drinking buddy. Sometimes, days pass where they say only a handful of words to each other. Shepard obviously wants to wait out her confinement in stony silence.

Though he'd never admit it, part of him wishes he could see that camaraderie she had with Anderson – you know, the wisecracking, ass-kicking, ear-burning person that nearly came out to play when the _Normandy _docked.

"Do you have anything left to add?" asks one of the members of the tribunal. A man. Some admiral or other? James can't remember.

Palomer, she shakes her head, looking falling down tired, like she's about to keel right off her chair.

"Then the court is adjourned."

There aren't that many people in attendance. Brass didn't want this to turn into a circus. Still, a good thirty people stand, Shepard included. Her hands are cuffed in front of her, but today, like every other day, she acts as though they're just an inconvenience accessory. She looks to him.

"Let's get out of here – now," she says, and even though it's an order and she's technically in charge of jack shit, he takes her by the arm and leads her from the room. Her muscles are bunched tight under his hand, and she's chewed her lower lip up. She has the look of someone who's trying real hard not to think of something which means that, of course, it's the only thing she can think of.

Yeah, he gets that.

It doesn't help when there's a shriek of _Kayleigh_ behind them. He can't help but look back and see that skinny little woman hobbling like duster after a dealer which was, you know, almost accurate. Shepard though, she tenses up like a rope, turning around like there's something really bad she just don't want to see.

Palomer stops about a meter and a half away. Just out of reach. Behind her, some guy comes up. He's in nearly as bad shape as she is, his white shirt stained in places and his long hair greasy, but his teeth aren't glowing so maybe red sand isn't his vice of choice. Don't matter – the guy smells of trouble.

"Shireen," says Shepard, and if that's what she sounds like when she's trying to be casual, James doesn't ever want to hear her pissed off. And though her voice doesn't drop an inch, it's ten times frostier when she adds, "Kurt."

To her credit, Palomer is smarter than she looks – not that it means much. She hunkers over her hands, twining them together like a ball of yarn. This Kurt guy seems totally nonplussed, which is a reaction James hasn't seen much when it comes to Commander Shepard. Kurt leans over Palomer, draping an arm around her shoulders, hip cocked. He could be one of those hicks from the vids, prepped to spit chewing tobacco.

"Look at you, all grown up," he drawls, his eyes roaming up Shepard, who crosses her arms over her chest. James isn't the sharpest crayon in the box, and he's certainly not the most observant, but it's his job to watch Shepard, and he sees the tightening around her eyes when she looks at Kurt. A surge of protectiveness floods through his system, and he has to stop himself from standing in front of the Commander.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," says Palomer, her words fumbling out of her mouth like her lips aren't working properly. If she's coming down off a high, probably they're not. "But they _asked _me to come in, you know, to tell them about you, and how could I say no when it was _the Alliance_ and I mean, you _did_ kill all those people-"

"Is there a point to this conversation?" asks Shepard. James frowns, giving her a significant look that says, _Say the word Commander and I'll get you out of this_. Her eyes touch on him briefly, but she gives no indication that she understood his unspoken message, so he has to assume she's doing okay.

Palomer falters. ""I – just – how have you been?"

James turns his surprised bark of laughter into a cough.

"Dandy," says Shepard levelly, though James thinks he sees a spark of amusement in his direction. "Well, if that's all, I've got to go." She gestures to James, who dutifully takes her by the arm to lead her away.

"Oh, yeah, of course," says Palomer, shrinking even smaller (if that's possible).

"Wouldn't want to interrupt your incarceration or anything," says Kurt, half-smirk on his face. He squeezes Palomer close to him, and her wiry bird hands cling to his shirt. Something about the whole scene makes James want to punch that expression off Kurt's face and damn, if Anderson hadn't tasked him with being all responsible and shit, he might've done it.

Instead, he says, "Come on, Commander."

She's still coiled tight as they start to walk away, but with every step she gets looser and looser. Can't say he blames her. If he had a family like that – even a fake one – he wouldn't want to be around them either. Luckily, it won't be a problem.

Or at least, that's what he thinks until Kurt, he calls, "Hey, Kay – keep the hair. It suits you."

Shepard's hands clench at her sides, and she increases her pace so that if she weren't several inches shorter than James, he might have to jog to keep up. He has to stay with her – that's his job, right? - but if he didn't, he may have gone back for that punch. Something about the way it was said just made him feel nasty, like he'd been swimming in sewage. Considering the source, he shouldn't be surprised.

They don't say anything on the way back to her room, but there this little frown on Shepard's face that would've been cute in any other circumstance but just makes his chest hurt now. He keys open the door, and Shepard wanders in, standing in the middle of the room, one arm wrapped around her middle and the other to her face. Her room isn't big, but it's not the brig either. She's got a bed, a desk with a small console, a small sofa, a kettle and en suite bathroom. Truthfully, it was nicer than some of the postings James had been on. No, it was nicer than _all_ the postings he'd been on.

Right now, she's staring at herself in the mirror. James wishes that he'd been born one of those guys with the gift of gab, because he can't think of a damn thing to say. Shepard's hands move slowly to the bun at the back of her head. She turns around.

"Lieutenant, do you have an electric shaver?"

He starts, wondering if she's serious. Her expression says she is, so he holds out his hands in apology. "Not on me, ma'am but I could maybe get you one." He pauses, shifting from foot to foot, knowing the rules but hating them. "If you're going to do what I think you're going to do, though – I'll have to. Do it, I mean." She raises her eyebrow at him, and oh god, when did he become a teenager tripping over his own words? "Nothing personal, Commander – it's just that everybody knows how big a techie you are. I'm not supposed to let you have anything that hasn't been officially sanctioned."

She sighs, shoulders slumped. "Jail is so much fun." With a wave of her hand, she says, "Yeah, okay. Just make it happen if you can. Today, preferably."

James knows a dismissal when he heard one so he backtracks out of the room. Just before the door shuts, though, he sees the Commander sink onto her bed, dropping her head into her hands. He feels a jolt of surprise, and then ldecides he's a tool. Of course she'd be upset about the proceedings and the douchebaggery that was – her family? Her past? James doesn't quite know what to call it. It's the first time that he'd ever seen Shepard so... human.

And it's humbling and terrifying all at the same time.

Maybe that's why, a few hours later, he enters her room with an electric shaver clutched in his paws like that (terrible, no really, awful) homemade valentine he gave to Maria Wagner when he was six. Shepard looks up from her computer, startled, but her features settle into a grim resolve as she stands wringing her hands.

"Okay, so, where would be best? The bathroom?" she says without preamble, like it's totally regular for her not only to be incarcerated, but to ask her jailer – and subordinate – to shave her head. James has the impression that life with Shepard will never be dull.

She doesn't wait for his response but wanders into the bathroom, pulling the down the cover on the toilet and sitting expectantly. James doesn't really know what to do with himself as she removes the pins from her hair, laying them around the sink. He had a girlfriend once that did that – it annoyed the hell out of him at the time, because he would invariably send them all flying, these tiny doo-dads that he could barely see never mind find to pick up.

Her hair is long and thick and lighter than he expected somehow, and she's softer in the face with it down. Makes her seem less ruthless soldier and more – James stops that thought where it is. He holds up the shaver.

"You sure about this ma'am?" he asks.

She nods, once. "Abso-fucking-lutely."

He's glad she's sure, because he sure as hell isn't.

James takes that hair in his hands, and he mows it off, strip after strip all while resisting the urge to run his fingers through it. He tells himself he's nervous not because it's Shepard, or because this is weirdly intimate in a way he didn't expect, but because, being honest, Shepard's a woman. Okay, he knew that before, but he's also got enough female cousins to have seen how beauty routines can go bad and the explosive, dramatic mess that follows. While he doubts the Commander's _that_ sort of woman (he'd bet his shorts she's not), you can't really be too careful.

He tells himself the nerves have nothing to do with beauty mark behind her ear or how long her lashes look. No, this is a totally professional shave between jailor and jailee. Right.

To take his mind off it, he says, "If you don't mind me saying so, Commander, those two today... Well, you deserved better, is all." Shepard hums softly, not quite agreement but not a shut down either. James barrels on, not able to stop his hesitancy, "You know, my old man was a duster."

"Oh?" Shepard cranes her neck around and James is forced to stop shaving.

His free hand goes to the back of his neck, scratching at an invisible itch. "Yeah. Found out just after I enlisted."

Shepard holds his gaze a long time, then slowly turns back around. "My sympathies."

James shrugs, even though she can't see it. "Not looking for sympathy, ma'am. Just – listen, I don't really know what went down with you when you were a kid. Not any of my business anyway. Just saying that it's fucking impressive you managed to turn your life around, to get away from all that."

He's rewarded with a short snort. "I got less far than you think, Lieutenant."

"That why we're giving you a buzz, ma'am?"

She shrugs, but James can read a definite _yes_ into that silence. It makes him wonder, but like he said, it's none of his business. He runs a hand over her head, brushing away any little hairs that might be left. All in all, it's pretty good. Not going to win her any awards in beauty pageants, but she's a real and proper jarhead again. She surveys the damage in the mirror, turning her head back and forth presumably to make sure that he didn't miss anything.

"Looks good," she says, and exhales deeply. There's something like a smile on her face. "I feel more like myself again. Hair is so hot and heavy, you know?" She runs both her hands over her new stubble.

There's nothing halfhearted about his own smile. "Yeah, me and my luscious locks, Commander. Thanks for noticing."

Shepard rolls her eyes into the mirror. "You know what I mean." She plants her hands on her hips, and she's more in control than he's seen her since she was taken into custody. "I'm like a whole new person."

"I certainly hope not," says James, before he can stop himself. Under the weight of her surprise, he feels the back of his neck grow warm. "What with the Reapers coming, we need you to be you. The Commander Shepard who kicked ass and took names, yeah?"

She pulls back then. Not physically, no, but there's a coolness that washes over her. "If I'm even allowed to fight," she grumbles, pushing past him to retrieve a small broom from the other room.

"When the Reapers come knocking, nobody's going to have time to play politics, Commander," says James, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Her bark of laughter is sharp and bitter. The way she looks at him makes him feel all of five years old, and he hates it. "Oh Lieutenant, I wish I believed that."

She sweeps up her hair and tosses it into the trash without a second glance.

**o-o-o**

It's about a week later when James finds himself in the cafeteria eating a BLT and making eyes at the leggy barista. He can't help his grin as she glances up at him through her lashes, a coy smile playing on her lips. He's about to man up and talk to her when his comm beeps. Stuffing down his annoyance, he answers.

"Hey," he says.

"Vega." It's Anderson, and James immediately chooses to forget all about his annoyance. In fact, he's already standing, wrapping his sandwich up in preparation. "Shepard's got a visitor."

"You need me to let him in?"

"No, no, he's already been admitted," says Anderson, sounding slightly concerned. "What I need you to do is go and make sure there aren't any... altercations. You don't need to stand guard – Shepard's more than capable – but I do need you to interject if things start to get heated." The newly appointed admiral sounds strangely reluctant to go into details.

"She in trouble sir?" asks James, already busting his ass out of the cafeteria towards Shepard's quarters.

"Honestly? I don't know. Better to be safe than sorry."

"If you don't mind me asking – who is it?"

Anderson's voice is both weary and concerned when he says, "The only other survivor from Akuze."

* * *

**Next Chapter: **Toombs gives his deposition on Shepard.


	4. A Sort of Walking Miracle

**A/N: **Second update in two days! I'm on a roll.

* * *

_**Chapter Three: A Sort of Walking Miracle - [Case Report: Josiah Toombs]**_

**Trial of Commander Kayleigh Shepard**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00245A**

_[Toombs, 33, sits before the tribunal, running his palms up and down the legs of his trousers. His hair is going prematurely grey, and he looks near ten years older than his actual age. The lines around his face convey a weariness, though there's nothing in his body language that confirms this notion – quite the opposite. He practically thrums with unbridled conviction.]_

TRIBUNAL: You served with Commander Shepard, is that right?

_[Toombs levies an even look on the tribunal.]_

TOOMBS:Yes, that's right.

TRIBUNAL: So you've known her a long time?

TOOMBS: Considering we've had minimal communication in the past three years, I'd say _know_ is a little bit of an overstatement.

TRIBUNAL: But you've been able to trace the course of her career, have you not?

TOOMBS: Unfortunately.

TRIBUNAL: Do you have something against the Commander, Corporal?

_[Toombs sighs heavily and runs a hand over his jaw.]_

TOOMBS: Look, I knew Shepard before she was some big Alliance hero, or saviour or whatever they're calling her now. She was tough, but good. Then I hear she's working with Cerberus, and let's just say it's not a career choice I condone.

_[His smile isn't happy.]_

TRIBUNAL: So you're saying that, prior to her affiliation with Cerberus, you wouldn't have believed it possible?

TOOMBS: No. Not Shepard. Even before – no.

**o-o-o**

Despite what the vids and the propaganda liked to spew, there was nothing particularly glamourous about working in the Alliance. Sure, seeing new worlds was kind of awesome, as was the prospect (she supposed) of encountering the alien races, but really, it was just a really, really disciplined gang. You know, with fewer crimes and (in theory) less racism. But she hadn't been looking for glamourous when she enlisted, or glory, or even heroism. What she wanted from the Alliance was something they were all too happy to offer: a way out.

After she – after Tybalt's death, after all the shit that went down on Earth, she needed to get gone. It was like she finally saw Earth for what it was – a fucking dump, a wasteland of crushed dreams and broken promises and what might be the shittiest race in the whole galaxy. The Alliance let her get off planetside, and when she entered basic training, she was damn sure that she wasn't going to make friends. Relationships complicated things, even platonic ones.

All she had to do to know that was ask all her friends back in the Reds. Oh wait, she had none.

Of course, that plan went down the shitter real fast. If people joined gangs to have a sense of family and community, the Alliance drilled it into their recruits whether said recruits wanted it or not. Didn't mean you had to share every goddamned detail of your life, or even most of them, but if you couldn't be friendly with the men and women around you, you were fucked. Which was, long story short, exactly what happened to Shepard.

She couldn't look at her current squad with anything other than a subtle admiration. She'd just reached the rank of Service Chief, and at twenty-three, that wasn't bad. Obviously she was doing something right. The fact that she was handy with a sniper rifle and tactical cloak probably didn't hurt. Somehow, battle and shitty food did a lot to bring people together.

Of course, she'd learned that most conversations weren't exactly of galactic import either.

"I'm telling you," Rossi was saying over dinner in the mess hall, "asari don't think of themselves as male or female."

"You have to be shitting me," replied Chang. "Have you seen the tits on some of them? I mean, really. There's no way you can look at those and say, _yeah this is totally a guy_."

"Nobody said anything about anyone being a guy, asshole," retorted Rossi. "If you had ears, you'd realize that I said they don't think of themselves as _either_. And I guess it makes sense, because although they need another partner for babies or whatever, it's not like a sex thing."

"Too bad," muttered Chang into his instant mashed potatoes.

"I think you're wrong though," chimed in Toombs, and this, more than the rest of the asinine conversation, was what made Shepard look up from her news feed and actually pay attention. Toombs was generally pretty quiet, only speaking up when he felt he had something genuine to contribute. With all the bullshit that tended to be flung around, Shepard found it was a quality she could appreciate, even if it wasn't one she could put into practice. "They might not need a sexual partner for reproduction, but that doesn't make them genderless, it makes them sexless."

"I know for a fact they're not sexless," said Chang, waggling his eyebrows.

Shepard set down her datapad and leaned over the table, catching Chang in her sights. "I don't think so, Chang. I'm told they need to mindfuck you to actually fuck you, and considering you have no brain..." She let a shrug finish her sentence and leaned back, throwing a wink at Toombs who hid his smile in his glass of water.

Chang pointed a fork in her direction, and said, "Shepard -" but didn't get any further than that, because a voice over the PA asked for him and Rossi, engineers that they were, to go fix some mechanical failing on the ship. Chang settled for throwing Shepard the age-old _I'm watching you_ gesture as he hastily gathered his things and left.

Nothing was said for a couple beats, and then Shepard said, "You're right you know. Or I think you are. Gender's just a societal construct, and since asari flit around in skirts and heels and makeup and whatnot, you could argue they're way more woman than I am." Toombs paused mid-bite, his eyes honing in on her and making her fidget in her seat, suddenly defensive. "What, because I'm a foul mouthed bitch from Earth, I can't be smart? Thanks a lot, Toombs." She picked up her datapad to go return to her news feed.

"Hey," he said, and she looked up. Toombs was smiling again. "I never said that. I've been out with you, seen some of the stunts you've pulled off. I know you're smart, Shepard."

And because this was getting just a little too touchy-feely, Shepard sniffed. "Yeah, well, don't pass it around. I've got a reputation to maintain." She tried to go back to her reading, but couldn't quite keep the smile off her face, either.

**o-o-o**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00245A (Continued)**

TRIBUNAL: Even before...?

_[Toombs shifts awkwardly in his seat, letting out a rattling breath. A bead of sweat appears on his temple, but he wipes it away. His electric demeanour is momentarily stifled.]_

TOOMBS: Look, do I have to say it? Before Akuze, okay? Akuze.

TRIBUNAL: I'm sorry, Mr. Toombs. I know this is difficult.

_[He suddenly bares his teeth in something that may be a smile, but which looks more like a snarl.]_

TOOMBS: You have no idea. No fucking idea. Only two people alive know what Akuze was like, and they're both participating in this trial.

TRIBUNAL: Mr. Toombs -

TOOMBS: I thought for a long time that I was the only one that survived. Even that wasn't totally based on my own merit. I should've known that if anyone could do it, it would be Shepard. She always had the stink of a survivor.

_[His laugh is bitter, cynical, but there's the shadow of real fondness looming behind his words.]_

**o-o-o**

_It's just like back on Earth_, she repeated to herself, struggling to keep her breathing under control. Her hands were shaking as she unjammed her rifle, hidden as she was behind some of what used to be the makos. _You made it out then, you can make it out now_. The rifle gave, and she pulled it close to her chest, wishing to some God she never really believed in that her hands would stop shaking. _You've been through some tough shit, Shepard – just figure your shit out._

Beyond her, she could hear the moans and screams and panting of her comrades. A tear sneaked down her cheek, and she brushed it away with more force than necessary. Now was not the time to panic.

Even as she thought it, the part of her that was most definitely panicking was thinking: if not now, when?

When they arrived on Akuze, they all thought that probably, the colonists had just had some sort of technological error. Maybe they weren't syncing up with the comm buoys the way they were supposed to. As their vehicles had rolled into what was supposed to be the settlement, however, it was clear something was amiss. The buildings – what Rossi liked to call _egg carton homes_ – were all destroyed. As in, little pieces scattered about. A few corpses remained, all in civilian clothing. They were thinking it was a slave raid when that... _thing_ shot out of the ground.

Through her visor, her eyes scanned the horizon. There appeared to be something of a cave up on a ridge, but it wasn't close and it was all over flat terrain with almost no cover. She glanced around the wreck and saw that bodies littered the way. There were a few outcroppings of rock, which would be to her advantage, but really, she was just going to have to run for it. As she realized this, she fought against it – she couldn't leave her squad behind.

Her head snapped around as she caught movement from near the front end of another destroyed tank. She punched the button on her omni-tool, activating her tactical cloak and with a deep breath, she rolled out of cover, sprinting towards her fallen comrade. Strapping her rifle to her back, she skidded to a stop on her knees. It was Chang, his breathing laboured and his eyes lolling in their sockets. Half his face had been melted away by whatever that monster was excreting, muscle and sinew exposed and his helmet ruined. His body was twisted in an odd way.

She knew she didn't have medigel to spare, knew that she should keep it for herself, knew that in the Reds that's what anyone would have done... And that was exactly why she ripped open her packet and squirted it onto his face. Gingerly, she removed his helmet, cupping his uninjured cheek with her gloved hand.

"Chang?" she said, and her voice sounded abnormally high. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Yanlin, do you hear me?"

She didn't like the way those eyes whirled about before they rested on her. "Kayleigh?"

Shepard nearly laughed. "I told you not to call me that."

"Suits you." His hand floundered in the air, and she reached out to hold it close to her. "Kayleigh, you have to – go."

"Fuck that," she snarled. "you're coming with me, asshole."

Everything in her training said that with his back bent that way, with the position of his limbs and the extent of his injuries, she shouldn't move him. But training didn't cover what to do when your squad was getting eaten by a big fucking alien. She wrapped her arms under his pits and started to drag him under the cover of what was left of the mako. That was when the rumbling started, and though she shuffled back as fast as she could, they weren't yet under cover when that sickening shriek belted out from behind them.

Instinctively, she covered Chang's body with her own despite the fact that her shields were going to do jack shit. Her world erupted in pain as the acid ate through her armour, into the flesh of her back. If they didn't get under cover _now_, they were going to die. So despite the horrible feeling of _pulling_ that ran down her spine as she recommenced her attempt, she and Chang were both under the mako after about the longest fifteen seconds of her life.

"Chang, you all right?" she gasped, cradling his head in her lap while trying to ignore the pain of her back. She told herself it was just like getting a tattoo.

Chang didn't answer. Shepard bent over him, his face upside down, and saw that he was staring blankly. She ripped off her glove and hovered it over his nose. Nothing. The mako rocked with the impact of that thing's secretions, and she could hear the sizzle of metal as it disintegrated. Her lower lip trembled, and the shaking of her hands intensified. For the first time in almost as long as she could remember, all she felt like doing was sitting down and weeping.

But that wasn't an option. If there was one thing she was, it was a survivor. She hadn't escaped Earth just to die on some godforsaken planet because of an oversized worm. Her gaze scoured the inside of the mako. There was half a radio left near the dash, and she grabbed it. Chang's omni-tool still looked functional too, so she took that – he wouldn't need it anymore.

Her rifle was damaged beyond repair thanks to the acid that claimed her back. She tossed it aside, and grabbed Chang's pistol. Useless, she was sure, against the giant outside, but she couldn't just leave unarmed.

The rumbling under ground started again, and she knew that was a bad sign. Wishing that radios were smaller, she stuffed it under one arm and crawled out. It had to be five hundred yards to the cave she spied before, but she knew it was her only chance. She ran, her legs pumping as she struggled to hold it together long enough to have some form of safety. Behind her, the mako exploded, and she glanced back long enough to see giant jaws close around Chang's corpse and drag him underground.

Holding the radio, she had only one hand to hoist herself into the cave, so she threw the radio in first. It sounded like it shattered on impact, but she couldn't worry too much about that now. She told herself if she could make a shitty omni-tool from the trash work at nine, she could fix a damn radio. All her muscles strained as she pulled herself inside and lay there on her belly for a few moments, heart rattling behind her ribs. From her belt, she pulled her last packet of medigel and, as best she was able, squirted it onto her back. It licked relief wherever it touched.

Tears came. She should stop being a baby and get over it. She'd beaten the odds before, and she was going to do it again.

She moved into a sitting position and clambered over to the radio, getting to work.

Over the next couple days, she worked at making the radio into a distress beacon. More than once, she had to go out and forage for spare parts off her dead companions. She tried not to think about it, because if she thought about it, she'd become a blubbering mess and that was about as useful as tits on a bull right now. She scavenged medigel too, and, thank god, a rifle. Whenever that fucker reared its head, she'd fire off a couple shots from under her cloak, doing her best to keep moving, to find whatever cover she could.

It was full dark by the time her beacon was operational. She recorded herself saying, "This is Service Chief Kayleigh Shepard of the 26th. My entire squad is down. Approach with caution – site is extremely hostile. Request evacuation." It buzzed and whirred and she hoped it was strong enough to break through the atmosphere surrounding Akuze.

Help arrived three days later.

**o-o-o**

**CONFIDENTIAL  
**

**Alliance Report **

**File: 201531-21DPA – "_Akuze Massacre"_**

WARNING: Misuse of this communication is a violation of Alliance Law, Directive 2361-15-LM,  
Subsection 267, Paragraph 23, Article (h) through (n) of Regulation 153S, and subject to immediate imprisonment.

On March 31st, 2177, the 26th Platoon of Alliance Marines was dispatched to investigate the radio silence on the planet of Akuze. No communications had come or gone from the pioneer team in nearly 72 hours. Military intelligence suggested nothing amiss, and Alliance Command determined a technological malfunction was the most probable cause. The 26th was sent in to identify the cause of the silence, and to render aid if necessary. Shortly after touching down groundside, communication between the 26th and Command was severed.

When the SSV _Bangladesh _responded to a distress signal, they discovered the remains of the 26th. Upon reaching the site, they were attacked by a large alien life form that erupted from the ground. Using the ground team's canons, as well as a squadron of fighters, the rescue team was able to successfully exterminate the creature. Unfortunately, the 26th had all but been decimated.

Only one marine survived: Service Chief Kayleigh Shepard. She assembled a distress beacon from what little remained of her technology. She was badly injured, dehydrated, and delirious. She was removed and placed into medical care aboard the _Bangladesh_ pending her arrival at Arcturus Station.

[...]

**o-o-o**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00245A (Continued)**

TRIBUNAL: Is it possible that the Commander's association with Cerberus preceded the incident on Akuze?

_[Toombs looks shocked.]_

TOOMBS: Absolutely not.

TRIBUNAL: Are you sure?

_[He leans forward in his seat, planting his elbows on his knees. His face is cold.]_

TOOMBS: Listen – I don't know why Shepard joined up with Cerberus, and I don't care. They're evil. But there's no way in hell Shepard would've subjected our squad to that. No way.

TRIBUNAL: Tell us about your connection to Cerberus.

TOOMBS: They're the ones that kept me alive after Akuze – if you can all it living.

**o-o-o**

When Hackett's voice echoed over the comm, Shepard didn't expect much. Seemed like every other day, Alliance command was sending her orders to drop onto this planet or that, rescue these marines, disarm that bomb. It wasn't exactly that she minded – she was an N7 for better or worse – but with Saren out on the loose, trolling the universe with his own geth posse, it was more than a little annoying to be constantly waylaid.

That was when he dropped the bomb. "The only thing these scientists have in common is you, Shepard. They were all on Akuze."

The world hung suspended for a moment as her brain struggled to catch up. "Are you saying those bastards had something to do with it?" she said, and it was only upon hearing her angry words that she realized she _was_ angry. Furious. Her hands were clenched at her sides, and if she hadn't blunted her nails the night previous, she'd have had little half-moons dotting her palms or worse.

"We don't know anything," said Hackett. "That's why you need to investigate."

So even though she normally postponed these side missions until after she'd dealt with the latest lead on Saren, and even though she was obsessed with keeping personal and professional lives separate (to her great detriment, a friend had once told her, but what the hell did he know) she ordered joker to make a beeline for that fucking system as fast as their engines can manage. She went down to the mess and tagged Alenko and Williams, telling them to prep their grear.

Her body was buzzing four hours later when she marched into that bunker on Ontaron, pistol drawn, ready for anything that might wait for her.

Or, at least, that's what she thought.

The sight of a mercenary – soldier or ex-soldier, from his stance – pointing a gun on the scientist didn't surprise her. The fact that this merc didn't seem to care that he had three marines staring down their guns at him demonstrated either determination or stupidity.

"Stay back! I've got no grief with you! All I want is this bastard!"

Something about that voice pinged at the back of her brain. This was her perp, no doubt about it, but her gut was telling her to hang on, that there was something up here. Where did she know that voice from? Earth? Why the fuck would one of her gang members be hunting down Alliance scientists? Okay, not Earth – someone Alliance. Her mind shuffled through possibilities.

"Mr Toombs, please, you're insane!" cried the scientist.

Reality fractured and shattered in an instant. If her training weren't so hardwired into her, she'd have probably dropped her gun. It took all her strength to stop her hands from shaking, and she lowered her gun because damn, she did not want a misfire situation here.

"Toombs?" she repeated, her voice shaky. And because she couldn't help herself, "Josiah?"

The merc – Toombs, he blinked and looked at her. "Shepard?" he said, like he didn't quite believe it.

"You – you're dead," she said, and tried to think of where he was on Akuze. She'd been standing behind what was left of a house when the ground shoot and the thresher maw erupted from the ground. With a scream to get out of the fucking way, she'd rolled away, wrapping her tactical cloak around her but bringing her rifle up to nail the fucker between the eyes. Toombs stood his ground, courageous son of a bitch, and she had to watch as that monster curled around him and pulled him beneath the surface.

In the years since, whenever she thought about it, there was the possibility that if she hadn't cloaked, if she'd stood with Toombs, he would've survived and she would've died.

It was a moot point now, anyways.

Toombs laid out how he'd survived. The scientists, the experiments, his escape. How it was all the mastermind project of some twisted organization called 'd tortured him, and his voice grew thick and she wanted to hug him as she'd only ever wanted to hug a handful of people. Fury bloomed in her chest. What if he hadn't been the only one? How many of her squad had been captured? How many had been subjected to that? Years had passed, and she'd thought the whole time that she was the only one who'd survived. Akuze had gotten her any posting she wanted, and hell, it had gotten her into the N7 program. What the hell was she supposed to do with this information? Somebody had to pay, and there was someone culpable standing right in front of her.

"Let me kill him," urged Toombs, and oh god, Shepard wanted to let him do it. No, she wanted to do one better and pull the trigger herself. She wanted bullets to blow that man's body apart until his insides were splattered all over the room and her weapon broke from overheating.

But that was personal life, and that was what she kept separate from her professional life. It gave her no pleasure to say, "We'll take him into custody."

"What?" demanded Toombs, outrage palpable. "This man ruined my life! He deserves to die!"

"Yeah," agreed Shepard, "he does. But not until he tells us everything he knows starting with _why_."

"I don't care!" shouted Toombs, and for a moment his hand wobbled and she was sure he was going to shoot the scientist anyways. But in the end, he brought his hands to his face. When he spoke, the tears were there. "I'm not a murderer. They couldn't make me one. As long as he goes to trial."

"I promise," said Shepard.

"Maybe now the screaming will stop," he said.

She almost told him that the screaming never stopped. That the second you though you were going to be mostly okay, all those old memories came bubbling up, punching you in the face, in the gut, so that you were short of breath sometimes with no fucking good explanation except that you lived while everyone else died.

But she kept her mouth shut, because maybe, hopefully, things would be different for him. She doubted it.

Shepard signalled for Alenko and Williams to apprehend the scientist and she stowed her gun, closing the distance between her and Toombs. He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her, but she didn't say a word as he wept. She stayed with him until a Fifth Fleet ship arrived and both he and Toombs were taken into custody. Toombs looked back, once, and gave her a small smile – probably the only one he could manage – before disappearing into the shuttle.

"You okay, Commander?" asked Alenko from behind her. From the corner of her eye, he almost reached out to put a hand on her shoulder but thought the better of it.

Shepard thought of Toombs as he'd been – quiet, mild-mannered, thoughtful. A far cry from the emotional wreck she'd just seen, and the thought made her want to kill someone, made her want to call the shuttle back and use all her Spectre authority to shoot that scientist in the head.

She shrugged off that feeling. She nodded once to herself and said, "Let's move out."

It was the closest she could get to _no._

**o-o-o**

**FWD:**

**Psychological Report for J.D. Toombs**

**Trial no: K.153046-O**

**NAME:** Josiah Derek Toombs  
**DATE OF BIRTH:** 6 June 2154  
**CASE NO: **24623326-LP  
**REPORT DATED:** 25 October 2183  
[...]

**(2.4) TEST RESULTS**

**(2.4.1) DSM-IV POST TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER CHECKLIST (MILITARY)**

• Repeated, disturbing _memories, thoughts or images_ of a stressful military experience [X]  
• Repeated, disturbing _dreams_ of a stressful military experience [X]  
• Suddenly _acting_ or _feeling_ as if a stressful military experience were _happening again_ [X]  
• Feeling _very upset_ when _something reminded_ you of a stressful military experience [X]  
• Having _physical reactions_ when _something reminded_ you of a stressful military experience [X]  
• Trouble _remembering_ parts of a stressful military experience [X]  
• Loss of _interest_ in things you used to enjoy [X]  
• Feeling as though your _future_ will somehow be _cut short_ [X]  
• Trouble _falling_ or _staying asleep_ [X]  
• Feeling _irritable _or having _angry outbursts _[X]  
• Being _"super alert"_ or watchful on guard [X]  
• Feeling _jumpy _or _easily startled_[X]

[...]

**o-o-o**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00245A (Continued)**

TRIBUNAL: Can you postulate on why the Commander would join Cerberus?

TOOMBS: Not a fucking clue.

TRIBUNAL: You've described the Commander as a survivor – can you think of any reason why this quality would cause her to destroy the Alpha relay?

_[Toombs grows contemplative, head in hands.]_

TOOMBS: No, I can't, but -

TRIBUNAL: Thank you for your time, Mr Toombs.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **While wasting time, Shepard gets a visitor – and the Lieutenant is none too happy about it.


	5. How One We Grow

**A/N:** Thank you all so, _so_ much for your lovely comments. They made me really happy – and with that happiness comes benefi – _cough_, I mean, another chapter.

* * *

_**Chapter Four: How One We Grow**_

Shepard is sprawled out on her bed, watching the latest action flick on her omni-tool. It's pretty good, all things considered, though that one C-Sec character obviously doesn't know how to handle the viper and he keeps jutting out his elbows. Classic rookie move. And let's not get started on the so-called "armour" worn by the female protagonist. If it were real life, that woman would be riddled with bullets.

That the flick is based – and she uses this term loosely – on her own life isn't the problem. In fact, it's so laughably wrong that it was almost like watching any generic blockbuster, except that the characters called her name every five seconds as if to emphasize the fact that yes, this highly improbable looking woman is in fact _the_ Commander Shepard, if she were five inches taller, three sizes smaller, four cups bigger and all around more beautiful. So really, it's damn near spot on by movie standards.

The sides of her mouth hurt from laughing so much, and her eyelids are gently lowering. All that ridiculousness is enough to make her sleepy. Her and Garrus – _really_? Okay, so maybe not _that_ strange. Garrus was hands down her best friend by a wide margin, but Shepard couldn't shake the feeling that if she and he ever got down to sexy times – oh god, why did she think of it like that? - that they'd both just end up calling a truce due to shared bafflement. Of course there had been days when she thought, _man I wish I were into turians_, because let's face it, if her libido were so inclined, she would've given it some serious consideration.

It probably wouldn't have gone any farther than that because, well, she's a fucking professional, that's why – but she might have entertained some fantasies. But no, he's her simply best friend and shooting partner, period. And they had most definitely never had wild, screeching sex in the mako – that's just unsanitary, and body knots up thinking about it.

She wishes, idly, that she could send Garrus a message and an attachment of the film under the caveat that he record himself watching it. Might even be more amusing than the film itself. Unfortunately, they've cut her off from the extranet, presumably so she can't enact any more of her special brand of terrorism.

If it were still in theatres, she could tell him to head over and watch it, but following her little fiasco with the Alpha relay, the execs thought that it might be offensive and pulled it. Can't say she blames them, really. And just like that, her mood plummets.

The clock tells her that the trial for today probably finished a good twenty minutes ago. Blowing her nose, she thanks whatever power there is that she didn't have to attend. Head colds are apparently good for something. When she woke up with her head throbbing and her nose running, she thankfully got exempt from attendance today. There are only so many days she can sit and listen to every person she's ever known list off her character, her flaws, her history.

Her stomach grumbles, and she pushes herself up and leans over the edge of the bed to reach into her nightstand where she keeps a ready supply of protein bars. When all's said and done, she's going to be fat. The reapers are going to show up, and she's going to be utterly incapable of fitting into her armour. The thought makes her chuckle softly to herself as she wonders what sort of movie they'd make about _that_.

She laughs because if she doesn't laugh, she's going to be angry and she can't afford that right now. Or she's going to cry, and that would just be embarrassing if anyone walked in – especially the Lieutenant. He seems okay, even if he does tend to clam up around her. Shepard isn't sure if he's nervous because of her military career or because she's one of the biggest war criminals this side of the milky way in, oh, a hundred years? Or maybe it's something else entirely. She's not sure she wants to know.

The door hisses open, and she has time to think, _speak of the devil. _She pulls herself into a semi-seated position and freezes, her brain careening around in her skull. Her body is awkwardly placed, and if it wasn't so damn obvious that she's done so unintentionally, it might even look like a seduction attempt gone horribly, horribly awry. Still, she can't do much more than stay still, because her fight or flight instinct has kicked in.

Toombs stands with his hands in the pockets of his inexpensive suit watching her with flat eyes. She scans him for weapons but sees no telltale bulges in the usual locations. Then she realizes that no Alliance guard would let him in armed. Nobody wants her dead (or, at least so far as she can tell, nobody in this building), they just want her held accountable for her actions. Toombs strides into the room slowly, taking in every nook and cranny, like a prospective buyer surveying some shitty apartment next to a subway system. He pauses about a yard away.

"It's nicer than I thought it would be," he says.

Shepard rights herself, planting her bare feet on the floor and grounding herself should he lunge at her. That email he sent her goes line by line through her mind. Surely he wouldn't be idiotic enough to kill her – or try to kill her – while in Alliance HQ? But the last time she saw him, he was holding a gun to a scientist's head and didn't really seem to be in the _sane_ state of mind, so it's best to be cautious.

"You and me both," she replies. "I was sure I was going to get the brig."

"You should've," Toombs accuses, anger flashing in her direction.

What can she say to that? "Yeah," she agrees, "I should've." And because he doesn't seem like he's going to be attempting homicide for the next thirty seconds, she relaxes slightly.

His eyes look her up and down. "You look like shit."

Shepard sniffs – or tries to, but her nasal passage is determined to spite her. It ends up as a half-wheeze – not really the impression she wants to make on the guy that threatened to kill her. She musters her dignity.

"Thanks. You look," she says, and pauses. "You look pretty great, all things considered."

An awkward silence descends upon the room as Toombs sits himself down on her small loveseat. He folds his hands in his lap and regards her. Careful to keep her face blank, she does the same.

"I just spoke at your trial," he says.

Of course he had. It seems like the tribunal is pulling up anyone and every fucking person that ever so much as bumped into her, so why shouldn't they call in Toombs? The thought makes her weary, and she decides this is the last thing she needs right now. She drops her head into her hands.

"I bet you had all sorts of unsavoury things to say about me, huh?"

"Only about your affiliation with Cerberus." He spits out the last like it's the most disgusting word to ever cross his lips, and if he feels anything like she does, that's close to true. He's suddenly standing again, striding towards her, clasping his hands around her shoulders. "How the fuck could you join them, Shepard?" he demands, reinforcing each word with a harsh shake. "They killed our squad! They tortured me for years, and you just rolled over and joined their cause like a little _bitch_ -"

Shepard, well, she's never been exactly in this position before, but she can spot all the vulnerabilities on his person. Any one of them could take him down. But she doesn't. She lets him shake her, because he's voicing all those thoughts she had in her months aboard the new _Normandy_. Because everything he says is true, and she pretty much deserves what he's saying. Because even if saving colonies and stopping the Collectors was more important than her admittedly justified grudge, that didn't make it any easier to swallow.

Her ears are ringing when Toombs' rant is cut short. It takes her a moment to collect herself, to stop her eyeballs from rattling around in their sockets. The Lieutenant has Toombs in a headlock, and he's saying something sternly. He's pissed off, his face red, and his replacement is standing in the doorway, watching the scene unfold with the most dumbfounded expression.

"Don't worry, Commander," the Lieutenant says, "I'll get him out of here asap."

"No," says Shepard, and everyone involved is surprised. One hand on her nightstand, she brings herself to her feet, throwing her shoulders back and speaking with authority she no longer possesses. "Leave him, Lieutenant. It was a misunderstanding, nothing more – and it won't happen again. Right Toombs?"

Toombs' eyes are oddly bright, but he nods. "Yeah," he says. "I'm sorry. I got out of hand."

Every muscle in the Lieutenant's body – and being honest, there are a _lot_ – screams that he's not pleased, but he reluctantly lets Toombs go and takes a few steps back. He's glaring at Toombs like the other man just pick pocketed his grandma, which is sweet but dangerous. Shepard appreciates his concern – she has few enough people in her corner right now – but there's always been a tinge of something personal to the Lieutenant's attention. She doesn't know if it's admiring or sexual in nature, but it doesn't matter because feelings can muddle otherwise clear issues.

That's why she says, "Can we have some privacy, Lieutenant?" And because she knows she's pushing it, adds, "Please?"

A vein in the LT's neck is jumping, and if possible, he's even more displeased with her request, but he says, "Okay – but I'm going to have to monitor this room. I'll turn the sound down, though."

Oh yes. Because she's in prison. She'd almost forgotten. It's not ideal, but she can't blame him either. It's his ass on the line if she gets roughed up. "Understood," she says.

The Lieutenant leaves the room, bumping the other Alliance guard with more force than necessary. The door shuts behind him. She and Toombs are left unable to meet each other's gazes. When she finally gathers the strength, Toombs is staring at his hands. He slumps back down onto the loveseat.

"Ever since Cerberus," he says, "I've been more erratic. My therapist said that it was PTSD, but I'm wondering if they didn't manage to make me a monster after all."

Shepard crosses the room and scoots her desk chair opposite him. "If you're a monster, Toombs, I'm the fucking antichrist," she says with a wry smile.

He looks lost. He looks like he did when she confronted him on Ontaron all those years ago. "Why did you do it, Shepard? _How_ could you do it?"

Her hands have become suddenly interesting. She delays because she's not sure she has an answer. Well, she does – saving people, protecting the galaxy, etc – but not one that can satisfy either of them. Of course she's glad she stopped the Collectors. Of course she's glad she's not dead (though some days less than others). Of course she knows that Cerberus was really the only choice, unless she was willing to watch those colonies get taken. But with Toombs comes all her memories of her first squad, of their hopes and fears, of their screams and their mangled corpses.

"I hated it," Shepard says, and that, at least, is completely honest. "I was surrounded by that fucking logo every single day. Except for the specialists I picked up, everyone was totally a-okay with what Cerberus stood for. They thought they were working for an organization that would look out for them. That would save them." Her hands clench. "They learned they were wrong."

She still remembers Miranda's face when the Illusive Man asked to keep the Proto-Reaper. All the loyalty she'd ever had for Cerberus literally melted off right there. And when Shepard told the rest of the crew what had happened, what the Illusive Man had asked for, what he was prepared to pay for human advancement, she'd seen the same damn thing then too. She can remember thinking, _shouldn't I feel more satisfied_?

"That doesn't answer my question," says Toombs breaking into her reverie.

"They brought me back from the dead, Josiah," she says, softly. "I got spaced. I can remember that. And then I just woke up in their care. They showed me evidence of colonies disappearing before I got a chance to say _no, _and after I saw the Collectors rounding up people, taking them away... What was I supposed to do? The Council didn't believe me. The Alliance couldn't associate with me. Hundreds of thousands of people were being kidnapped, and nobody else would help." Shepard takes a deep breath. "So I made a deal with the devil."

She realizes what she just said, and it makes her think of a certain other soldier – one who felt equally betrayed by her choice to ally with Cerberus. Irony's a bitch.

Toombs is quiet for a long time. "You always were an _by any means necessary_ sort of person."

Visions of that mass relay exploding, of the whole system going blank on her galaxy map dance through her head. She says, "Yeah, well, I guess things don't change."

"Some things change," says Toombs. "I changed."

"Yeah, you did. The old Toombs would never has threatened to hunt me down and kill me."

"Actually, I think I said that I'd kill you the next time I saw you, which doesn't imply any sort of _hunt_," says Toombs, but he has the grace to be embarrassed about it, one hand scratching the back of his neck. "I just – I just thought you'd forgotten us. The squad, I mean. That Cerberus threw a bunch of fancy gadgets at you, and you buckled."

_That_ makes her angry. She's looking down at him, but she doesn't remember standing. "Is that really what you think of me?"

He frowns up at her, weighing his answer. "No," he admits.

"It better not be," she snaps, wrapping her arms around herself because when did it get so cold? "I still dream about Akuze sometimes. I haven't forgotten shit."

His voice is quiet when he says, "I dream about it too."

"I shouldn't have lived."

"None of us knew what we were getting into. That you survived is a miracle in itself," says Toombs seriously. A slight smile inches onto Toombs' face a few moments later. "You know, I still think about Chang's asinine comments sometimes. Pretty much every time I enter a bar, really."

"He was such an idiot," says Shepard, shaking her head, but she's smiling too. "You remember that time with...?"

"The screwdriver? Oh god, he was in the medbay for a week. God, the Captain was so pissed off. He needed meals brought to him." Toombs snorts.

"And since I was the only one with the time, I always got saddled with it. He'd spend the entire time telling me how I could make him feel better." Shepard sends Toombs a disgusted look, but it's ruined by her amusement.

Toombs is suddenly still. "You know... We did that on purpose, right? Sent you in there with Chang's dinner?"

Shepard frowns at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

The man shifts awkwardly in his seat. "He – well, he liked you, Shepard." He looks up at her through his lashes, and stumbles on. "Kept coming up with all these elaborate plans to impress you. They were all stupid, of course, and he never did them because of regs, but... You didn't know?"

Every bit of her tingles, and not in a good way. Gooseflesh covers her skin, and she sinks heavily into her chair. Her eyes are prickling, and despite her best efforts, she can't stop a few tears from escaping. When was the last time she cried? Not since reaching Earth, that's certain. She twirls her chair so she's facing away from Toombs, hands pawing the tears away from her eyes.

"I found Chang, you know," she says, and she knows her voice is too casual to be discussing this, but somehow she can't help it. "He was injured pretty bad, but he was alive. I tried – but if I'd been better, we might have both made it out. I was just too fucking slow."

Toombs' hand comes to rest on her shoulder, and she glances up at where he stands behind her.

"I'm sorry," she says, and they both know she's not talking about her tears.

"Hey," he says, dropping into a squat next to her. "It's okay, Kayleigh. I - I forgive you."

It isn't until the words are out of his mouth that Shepard realizes how long she's waited for those words.

**o-o-o**

The Lieutenant stops by much, much later when Toombs is long gone. He brings her dinner and a box of cold medication, and were circumstances different, she might've let herself feel touched at the gesture. Judging from the case, it's not brand new, and she can't help but wonder if this box belongs to the Lieutenant himself. But that's not really appropriate, given their current relationship, so Shepard pushes it away and vows not to think of it.

"How're you feeling?" asks the Lieutenant.

"Better," she says, and she doesn't just mean the cold. From the upturned eyebrow, it's likely that the Lieutenant has picked up on her meaning. She feels like an open wound, vulnerable, and she can't help but think of that vein trembling in his neck or the way he was just suddenly _there_ to pull Toombs off her before things got really violent. He's on his way out the door when she stands. "Thank you."

His slack-jawed expression would be more fitting if she'd just ripped off all her clothes and told him to sex her. Annoyance wells up, and she crosses her arms.

It fades a little when the Lieutenant asks, "For what?" with such innocence and confusion that she can't be too upset. Maybe Anderson made the right call in making the Lieutenant her jailer – maybe.

"For, you know, leaving me with Toombs and not just hauling his ass out of here," says Shepard. "We – there were things that needed to be said."

"Clearly," drawls the Lieutenant, and he crosses his arms too, leaning against the door frame out of the room.

In another life, she and the Lieutenant might've been friends, but right now there's too much shit in the air and Shepard's too busy trying not to let too much land on her. The last thing she needs is someone sympathetic getting splattered with her mess. Anderson's bad enough. The LT has done her good, though. Helped her hack off her hair, let her be with Toombs. There's just something about the way that he looks at her, like she's wonderful, that Shepard hates. She isn't wonderful. Oh sure, she's pretty damn impressive when she gets the chance, but she's not worth that awe. She's just another soldier.

Part of her wonders if she's gotten so used to people talking shit about her that anything in the other direction makes her paranoid. She promptly dismisses the thought. If she's paranoid, it's not like she hasn't got ample anecdotal evidence on her side.

"What I mean to say is, most people wouldn't have given me the courtesy of sorting it out myself," she says.

The Lieutenant shrugs one shoulder. "If he'd taken a swing at you, I'd have come in here and popped his ass."

Shepard frowns. "What makes you think I couldn't handle myself?"

"I never said his swing would land," points out the Lieutenant. He's got this cocky smirk that Shepard used to wear all the time before Akuze. That just screams trouble.

Still, she snorts. "Yeah, yeah, okay, I got it." She flaps her hand at him. "Don't you have dumbbells to turn into pretzels or something?"

She doesn't say it unkindly and is rewarded with a laugh. "And there she is," he says.

Her frown deepens. "What are you talking about?"

The Lieutenant shakes his head. "Nah, never mind. I'll get out of your – er – hair, Commander." He salutes for the first time ever, and leaves without a second glance back.

Yeah, in a different life, if wishes were ponies.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** A certain Major discusses his relationship with Shepard.


	6. Do I Terrify?

_****_**A/N: **Edit - after much consideration (and because I'm really close to finishing the last few chapters), I've decided to drop the rating down to T. There were things I thought I was going to add in that haven't made it, making the M rating somewhat superfluous.

* * *

_**Chapter Five: Do I Terrify? [Case Report: Kaidan Alenko]**_

**Trial of Commander Kayleigh Shepard**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00145M**

_[Major Alenko, 35, looks utterly professional in his Alliance blues, hat propped on one knee. He is the very model of military decorum. Despite this, he's guarded, as though suspicious of the courts intentions – or perhaps of his own intentions.]_

TRIBUNAL:Major Alenko, thank you for being here. We know you have responsibilities of your own.

ALENKO: I'm happy to offer any help I can.

TRIBUNAL: You are among one of the few who's worked closely with Commander Shepard. You were with her when she eradicated the geth threat on the Citadel, weren't you?

_[The lines on Alenko's face deepen. He swallows and takes a deep breath.]_

ALENKO: I – yes. I was with her when she stopped Sovereign.

TRIBUNAL: And what was your impression of the Commander?

_[Alenko pauses to give the question some thought.]_

ALENKO: Tough, but fair. She made an effort to become close to her crew, but never at the expense of professionalism. She could be intimidating in her determination, but she was never reckless with the lives under her command.

TRIBUNAL: So you'd call her competent officer, then?

ALENKO: Respectfully, I'd call her the best.

**o-o-o**

When Shepard woke up, her head was brimming with horrendous visions. Every time she closed her eyes, it felt as though her head was liable to crack in two. Part of her, a very small part, wished she'd just let Alenko touch the fucking beacon. Then he'd be having the surrealist dreams and she'd be doing her job properly. Mostly, it was only bad when she slept. The dreams would play in a vivid loop, and sometimes weird people from her past would flicker into the unintelligible collage just for shits and giggles.

Mostly, if she had to be stuck with these visions, she wished that she'd gotten to Eden Prime sooner, moved faster, acted smarter. Why did innocent people always seem to die around her?

The mess hall was quiet. All the sleeper pods behind her were filled. Shepard had tried to sleep in her own quarters, but she wasn't used to a bed that big, or a space all to herself. For most of her life, she'd been crammed into quarters with a few dozen other people, falling asleep to the cadences of their breathing. Now it was only her, alone, and if she had someone to talk to, she might have mentioned how fucking poetic that was because really, she'd never been more alone in her life.

Or, well, okay, that wasn't entirely true. As a kid, she was exactly bursting with popularity, but back then it she had only herself to look after. Now, if her hunches were true, the turian psycho was determined to bring a fleet of sentient machines to the galaxy. Oh, and those machines? They were going to kill everyone. And, you know, the Council wouldn't believe a word of it – not that she could blame them. Shepard was hardly a credible source, all things considered. Grew up with no family as a semi-pathological liar. Her file probably had half a dozen flags about potential PTSD or something.

So with those images playing on repeat on the back of her head, she pulled up her omni-tool and stared at her open message. She was trying to figure out some way to contact Jenkins' family, though she didn't know if they were even still alive after the attack. Jenkins hadn't wanted to go home – would he have felt different if he'd known about the attack?

Yes. No question. The kid had been excitable, but he'd also been brave.

Alenko entered the room and stopped mid-step before continuing to the small kitchenette, presumably for his late night snack. Shepard had worked with biotics before, had seen how much they had to eat, but she continued to be impressed by the 5000 calories Alenko could pack away.

With a puff of annoyance, she closed down her blank message document and turned in her chair. "Hey, Alenko – you were close with Jenkins, yeah?"

He considered her query. "We weren't best friends or anything, ma'am, but yeah. We were close."

She almost didn't want to ask. "Do you know if his folks made it out alive on Eden Prime?"

Alenko's head was bent down, his shoulders squared. "I don't know."

"Fucking Saren," she spat, and Alenko swivelled towards her in surprise. Her face hurt from frowning. "I'm going to rip out his spine and wear it as a belt." Seeing her Lieutenant's face go slightly off-colour, she added, "Figuratively, LT. Really, I don't think a belt like that would go with my outfit, do you?" She gestured to her fatigues for emphasis.

The smile he gave her was adorable, all shy and whatnot. "Probably not, ma'am." He finished assembling his sandwich and came to sit next to her. "Why are you asking – about Jenkins' family, I mean."

"I wanted to – I don't know. Write them a letter. Apologize. Something." Shepard ran a hand over her shaved head.

"It's not your fault," Alenko said, and she could tell he believed it. "I meant what I said: you did everything right. Captain Anderson notified next of kin while you were out. I – I was in the medbay, so I don't know who he finally contacted."

She had a sneaking suspicion as to the reason Alenko had holed himself up in the medbay, but graciously let it go. "You're right," she agreed, "it's not my fault. But I don't want them to think it didn't matter to me, either. People have the tendency to meet unsavoury ends when I'm around."

"Like... Like on Akuze?" ventured Alenko, finding his sandwich fascinating all of the sudden.

It had been years since Akuze, but even hearing it mentioned was like a shot to the heart. "Yeah. Like Akuze."

She stood, not willing to continue this conversation. She was Commander Shepard, she was the first human Spectre, and right now, she might be the only fucking thing standing between the galaxy and imminent destruction. Until her objective was reached, she had to be more than herself. She had to be unstoppable, which meant no pity parties, no complicated emotions._ Bottle everything up, Leigh_.

"Enjoy your snack." She was halfway to her quarters when she stopped and added, "Thanks for staying on, Alenko."

"It's an honour," he said.

Shepard almost believed him.

**o-o-o**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00145M (Continued)**

TRIBUNAL: So she never did anything during your time about the _Normandy_ that would make you question her judgement?

_[Alenko fiddles with the hat on his lap, brows pulling together.]_

ALENKO: I can't say that I agreed with all the choices she made, but I respected her reasons for making them. We all did.

TRIBUNAL: Would you say her personal history had anything to do with any of these choices?

_[Alenko's eyes shoot towards the tribunal, face a granite fortification. He isn't confrontational, not quite, but he exudes something like righteousness.]_

ALENKO: Doesn't everyone's? How can you separate a person from their experiences?

TRIBUNAL: Are you saying Commander Shepard's past directly influenced her decisions?

ALENKO: I'm saying that the Commander sometimes had a perspective the rest of us sometimes lacked.

**o-o-o**

**FWD:**

**Vid File – **

_[A shaky cam records the inauguration of Commander Shepard into the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance branch_ _of the Council. It's shot from above, the opposite hand of the spectator occasionally entering the scene. Commander Shepard stands tall before the Council in full armour, weapons strapped to her person. Her head is shaved close, her expression blanketed in neutrality. She is flanked by Captain Anderson, Alliance, and Ambassador Udina.]_

COUNCILLOR TEVOS:Commander Shepard, step forward.

_[The Commander does so, her hands clasped behind her back. As the Councillors recite their speeches about the Spectres, Commander Shepard's face gets tighter and tighter. Her hand are bound together behind her back, fingers interlocking. These are the only signs that that she feels anything, and only for those who are paying close enough attention. As the Councillors finish, she bows her head towards them.]_

COMMANDER SHEPARD:It's an honour, Council. Truly.

_[The Council members incline their heads and make their exits. Shepard stares after them, even as Captain Anderson comes to give her a congratulatory pat on the shoulder.]_

**o-o-o**

Nobody said a word in the cargo bay as Shepard emerged from the elevator. Not that it was usually a hub of friendly conversation, but today there was something oppressive about the space. She caught Garrus' eye, and he inclined his head slightly towards the weapons bench. Williams was slamming every component down with more force than was strictly necessary. Garrus gave a sort of shrug as if to say, _don't look at me._

Shepard liked Ashley Williams, and though they didn't agree on several key points, she's begun to consider the Gunnery Chief as something of a friend. She wondered if those differences had become too divergent, if their budding friendship had been mowed down on Noveria.

It had been a contentious choice to let the rachni queen live. The Council hadn't been pleased either. That turian bastard Sparatus had kept the asshole comments coming, but she stood her ground, just like she'd stood her ground when Williams had doubted her. Doubt was normal – Shepard was having her fair share of it lately – but she didn't like to see her crew members so obviously against her decisions. The level of doubt and anger Williams was displaying right now would only fester and tear the team apart if Shepard didn't confront it.

So she put on her big girl pants and, gun in hand, wandered over to the work bench. Williams glanced over at her, frown deepening, and her forceful treatment of her weapons continued.

"Problems, Chief?"

Williams threw down the weapons parts, leaning heavily against the bench as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. "With all due respect," ground out Williams, "I don't know how you could let that overgrown bug run free. Last time, they nearly overran the galaxy." There was a surprising amount of anger on the Chief's face.

Resisting the urge to pull rank and shut Williams down for good, Shepard counted to ten and chose her words carefully. "That queen wasn't around for the rachni wars, Williams. What did you want me to do? Kill her because her ancestors were violent? Kill her on the off-chance she might go bad?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Williams, pushing off the workbench. She radiated righteous anger.

Shepard _hmm_ed though she hadn't really expected a different answer. She propped her hip up against the lockers. "You know your history, Chief?"

"I know that the last time the rachni attacked, the council races nearly lost the war. They were nearly destroyed by -"

"I wasn't asking about the damn council races," interrupted Shepard, trying to sound stern but not angry. "I'm talking about us – humans."

Williams seemed like she was expecting some sort of trap. "Ma'am?"

"Before we ever found that Prothean cache, before we even mastered space travel, we were fucking disturbed creatures, Williams," said Shepard. "I mean, look at our history. How many tyrants have there been? How many people have been slaughtered for the sake of power? It's disgusting. By your logic, there are countries, ethnicities, entire groups of people that should have been annihilated on Earth because of their potential for destruction and death. Hell, we could still be punishing people for things like the Crusades or the Holocaust or whatever, but we don't – _because their decendants haven't done anything wrong_."

"That's not – it's not the same," said Williams, getting that damn stubborn set to her jaw that was becoming an increasingly familiar sight.

"It _is_, Ash," said Shepard.

"I have a _family_, Shepard," said Williams, clenching her fists at her sides. "I don't want my sisters to have to deal with this shit later on."

Something about the way that Williams said that pissed Shepard the hell off. Ten years ago, she might have punched the other woman in the face. Thank god she'd matured a little bit since then, even if her hands were still itching for a fight. Keeping calm was a priority. It wouldn't do to have her, a commanding officer, beat down one of her subordinates.

"I believe in second chances," she said instead, even though to her this was technically a _first_ chance. Somehow she didn't think Williams would appreciate the sentiment.

"Some people don't deserve them, Commander," said Williams.

This should have been Shepard's boiling point, but it wasn't. She just felt weary, like despite being only thirty, she was some old woman with rickety bones and too many cats. So she sat down, which seemed to surprise Williams more than anything else she could've done. Knees to her chest, she asked, "Chief, how much do you know about me?"

Okay, correction, _now_ Williams looked more surprised. She rattled off the statistics everybody knew about Akuze and the N7 program and whatnot, but still, the list was surprisingly short. Williams managed to be embarrassed under her still simmering anger.

"I don't have a family," said Shepard. "I never really did, so maybe I don't get what you're feeling. Maybe I never will. But I have been on the opposite side of the fence – I've been the one who's been judged. They had huge reservations about letting me into the Alliance when I first enlisted, you know? I don't fucking blame them either. I was a pretty messed up kid. The things I did... I killed for the first time when I was fourteen, Chief. Not because I wanted to, or because I meant to, but still, that's a life on my hands. I wasn't one of the good guys, by any stretch. And I was xenophobic."

Williams didn't say anything, but inched slightly closer, arms crossed, brows drawn together in thought now rather than anger.

"But you know what? The first person to ever give me a second chance wasn't human," said Shepard. "He was a turian. And this was only, what, thirteen years after the First Contact War? By all rights, he should've killed me. But he didn't." She was stern again now, meeting Williams' eyes unflinchingly. "And before you ask, no, I didn't save the rachni as some way to balance the galactic scales or save my karma or whatever. But I couldn't kill something just because it had the _potential_ to be dangerous. If everyone thought that way, I'd be dead a hundred times over."

It was a long time before Williams said, "I didn't know, Skipper."

"Of course you didn't, Chief," agreed Shepard. "Not many people do. I'm not asking you to like my decision, or even to accept it as right, I'm just asking that you respect my choice to make it."

Williams swallowed thickly. "Yes, ma'am." She fiddled with a scope mod, pushing it around the workbench. "But... fourteen? Really?"

Shepard's chuckle was not kind, or happy, or even ironic. It was bitter and shaped with jagged edges. "Earth isn't a nice place to grow up when you're on your own, Ashley." And with that cheerful thought, she stood up and placed her gun on the console. "Now, I have to go file some reports – would you mind cleaning this for me?" When Williams shook her head, Shepard set it down and started away. She stopped short only a few feet away. "Oh, and Chief? Don't mention this to anyone else, please."

"Aye aye, ma'am," said Williams, eyes soft.

**o-o-o**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00145M (Continued)**

TRIBUNAL: Is that what you would say about her dealings with Cerberus, Major? That she did so because she had a perspective we all lacked?

_[Alenko falters for the first time.]_

ALENKO: I – I don't know. She certainly believed she was doing the right thing. Whether that was true or not... I don't know.

TRIBUNAL: You encountered her on the colony of Horizon, didn't you?

ALENKO: I did. It could be argued she's the only reason any colonists were left.

TRIBUNAL: According to your report, she asked you to join her. Why didn't you?

_[Alenko's distress is kept under tight wrap, but it's clear the question causes him some discomfort.]_

ALENKO: During my time on the SR1, we came across some Cerberus bases that were doing... horrible things. I couldn't – I couldn't in good conscience be a part of an organization that treated people that way.

TRIBUNAL: But Commander Shepard had no such qualms?

ALENKO: No – she did. We, well, we discussed it during that encounter. Shepard, she's always walked her own path when she felt she was in the right. This was no different.

**o-o-o**

Horizon was now at the top of her list of _most horrific things I've seen_, though somehow, by the end of this, she was sure there was going to be a new champ. She wished that for once, her enemies would leave civilians the fuck alone. Killing people that couldn't fight back made her angry in the worst way. Maybe that was why she didn't miss an opportunity to waste those collector sons of bitches on her way to activate the guns. She bared her teeth in a fierce smile as the guns batter the side of the Collector ship, imagining – hoping – that dozens of the bug things were meeting their maker.

That smile was slapped off her face when it started to take off with half the colony. Instead of the white-hot anger that characterized most of the mission, she seethed with ice. She was going to make them pay for this colony, for Freedom's Progress, for Ferris Fields, for all the people they were taking, and then she was going to save all those people and get them home, one way or another.

It was pretty much the only thing keeping her with Cerberus.

The mechanic ran out, flailing his arms, shouting, "What are you doing! They've got half the colony in there! Save them?"

"I did everything I could," ground out Shepard, angry not with him but with herself. How many times did she have to be too slow? How many times before she learned her lesson?

"More than anyone else could've done, Shepard," said Garrus behind her, and she was ashamed at the amount of gratitude she felt towards him then.

That mechanic – what was his name? She couldn't even remember, so hopped up on adrenaline was she. He said, "Shepard, I've heard that name. Aren't you some sort of big Alliance hotshot?"

"Commander Shepard. Captain of the Normandy. The first human Spectre. Saviour of the Citadel."

The voice that rang through the courtyard made her stop dead. All that anger was forgotten. Relief mingled with dread. She'd thought about this conversation a lot over the past few weeks – what she'd say to Kaidan when she saw him again. Once, she'd considered him among her closest friends. They'd tackled Saren together. They'd survived Ash's death together. He'd mutinied for her. And now... now she was back after two years with no good explanation for where she'd been.

Kaidan looked... well, good. Better than her, but that meant shit. He glanced over at the mechanic. "You're in the presence of a legend, Delan. And a ghost."

"All the good people we lost, and you get left behind," spat Delan, flapping a hand at them and wandering off. Shepard watched him go, but not for long before turning her attention back to her old squadmate.

"Kaidan," she breathed, and he smiled, coming forward, extending a hand. She shook it. With Garrus at her back – and ignoring (like always) the looming presence of Miranda Lawson – she could almost pretend it was like old times.

"I thought you were dead," he said, eyes scanning her face. Trying to figure out if she was really her, if Shepard had to guess. She wanted to wish him good luck with that; she was still asking herself the same damn question.

Shepard took a deep breath and said, "I was. Or close enough. I've been out of the game for two years. Cerberus rebuilt me." She couldn't stop herself from grinning like an idiot. "It's good to see you. I could really use your help."

The feeling was apparently not mutual, because Kaidan retracted his hand like he'd been burned. That was bad enough, but then he stared at her like she was fucking Freddy Kreuger come to life. Suddenly, she was completely self-conscious of those scars that zigzagged her body.

"I heard the reports that you were with Cerberus," he said, backing away, "but I never believed them."

His disgust was evident, and somehow it made her defensive even though she felt the same way about her ties to Cerberus. "Wait, wait, hold up – you _knew_? And Anderson knew that?" She swiped her damned long hair out of her face and said, "That son of a bitch. He didn't say a word."

"Can you blame him?" said Kaidan, and now Shepard wasn't the only one sounding pissed off. "We heard Cerberus was behind the abductions. We had a tip that this might be the next colony hit, so they sent me."

"Shit on a stick," swore Shepard, crossing and uncrossing her arms. She wondered when her life had turned into a damn sci-fi soap opera, and when it would stop. She was a soldier – period. She could work with circuit boards like nobody's business, she could shoot a man dead from three hundred paces, but political intrigue and gossip mongering had never and would never be her forte. Hearing that everyone was keeping information from her, and spreading rumours and shit... It was like everybody was fifteen all over again, and Shepard was sick of it.

"Listen, Kaidan," she tried, voice level, "Cerberus isn't behind this. It's the Collectors – as I'm sure you noticed by now, what with the giant ugly bugs flying around. I am _not_ a part of Cerberus. I'm just working with them to stop the attacks. That's the only reason. Period."

Once upon a time, her word would've been enough for Kaidan. Now, he just shook his head. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. Don't you remember the sick experiments they performed? Or Kohaku? Oh, hell, don't you remember Akuze?"

She didn't realize she'd punched him until he stood with his hand on his jaw. She stared at her hand like it didn't belong to her her anymore and, who knew, maybe it didn't. Her breath was coming out in short pants, but she managed to say, "Don't you ever – _ever_ – assume I've forgotten Akuze. Do you honestly think I can forget watching fifty people get butchered? Those were my _friends_, Alenko." She didn't know what to do with her hands so she clenched them both.

"Then why on Earth would you still help Cerberus?" said Kaidan, and though there was a sharp edge to his tone, she could see that, just like always, he was trying his best to see all sides of the problem.

"Because I went to Anderson and the Alliance isn't doing shit! Those, those _things_ are stealing our people, and nobody is going to stop them!"

"If you just come back to the Alliance -"

What she should've told him was that she wished she could. That she was Alliance through and through, just like him. That every night in that stupidly huge room made her feel like she was losing herself. What she said was, "So I can spend months going through psych evaluations while they find reasons not to believe me – _again_? No thanks."

Kaidan crossed his arms and shut down. "So you'll sell your soul to the devil instead?"

She couldn't help it – she laughed. Head straight back, full bodied laugh. "Kaidan, if you think Cerberus owns me, you really don't know me at all. Ask Miranda back there how well we get along." She jerked her head back in the operative's direction, and even without risking a peek, she knew Lawson was displeased. It brightened Shepard's day, but only marginally.

To his credit, Kaidan tried really hard. "Shepard, the Alliance -"

"Can't do shit out here and we both know it. Hell, even these colonists know – knew – it. It's why they're out here in the first place, so damn close to the Traverse. Alliance can't spit out here without the Terminus Systems readying their thannix cannons." She frowned and rethought that sentence. "That sounded really inappropriate."

Garrus admirably choked back a laugh somewhere behind her.

Kaidan was markedly less impressed. "I don't trust Cerberus, Shepard. I'm an Alliance man, and I always will be. I guess... Good luck, Commander. Try not to get yourself killed – again." There was a moment where he was ready to salute, but his arm fell limply to his side and he stalked away.

In a soap opera, now would be the time where she chased after him and apologized. Where she vowed she was innocent. Where she fell to her knees and begged for forgiveness, pleaded with him to understand. But Shepard, well, she'd never been anyone's idea of a fucking damsel in distress, and she wasn't about to start now. She radioed Joker and told him to rendezvous where they started.

She turned her back on Kaidan and kept walking, willing herself not to look back.

**o-o-o**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00145M (Continued)**

TRIBUNAL: This tribunal would like to thank you for your time, Major.

ALENKO: Of course.

TRIBUNAL: We have only one more question.

_[Alenko leans forward in his seat, eyes glancing at the clock.]_

TRIBUNAL: Are you or have you ever been romantically involved with Commander Kayleigh Shepard?

_[Alenko reels back in surprise, an unexpected blush flooding his cheeks. He scratches at his chin.]_

ALENKO: I – no. Like I said, the Commander always kept relationships with her crew professional.

TRIBUNAL: But you were in love with her, were you not?

_[Alenko shifts awkwardly in his seat. He stares down at his lap.]_

ALENKO: I'm not sure I see how this is pertinent to the matter at hand.

TRIBUNAL: Please answer the question, Major.

_[His hands tighten around his hat. His lips disappearing in a thin line. He opens his mouth. Shuts it. He glances up at this tribunal and stares them down. He opens his mouth.]_

* * *

**Next Chapter:** James pokes his nose where it doesn't belong, and comes to regret it.


	7. Black Sweet Blood Mouthfuls

**A/N: **Thank you to those of you who read, reviewed and/or messaged me – I appreciate any and all feedback. As of last night, I finished the last chapter of _Skin and Bone_, so with a few edits, the rest should be up relatively soon!

* * *

_**Chapter Six: Black Sweet Blood Mouthfuls**_

James wishes he could figure Shepard out. Here she is, arguably the most dangerous soldier in the Alliance (if not the entire galaxy), and she's taking everything people are doling out. Every time one of those stupid news reports starts to drone on, James wants to rip the console off the wall. They paint her as some overly violent, brutish character – especially the batarians, and who are they to talk? James might have an opinion or two it batarians had ever sacked a human colony.

Oh wait, they _had_.

And that's maybe what makes him the angriest. It's not that Shepard is lying down and taking the abuse, it's the fact that she's a goddamned hero. Sure, destroying Aratoht was a fucking shame – even James can admit that, and he doesn't even _like_ batarians. But where was all this press coverage when it was human colonies disappearing? Shepard was one of the few who stood up and said that it was the Collectors, and the whole galaxy turned their backs on her, claiming it was the work of slavers. _Batarian_ slavers, at that.

And because the Council didn't want war with the Terminus systems, they left those bastards alone. And yeah, in the long run, it wasn't the four-eyes' fault, but that wasn't the point – the point was that everyone deluded themselves into believing it _was_... and they still did fuck all.

So why is Shepard being subjected to any of this to begin with? Because she actually admitted to destroying Aratoht. She showed up and took responsibilities for her actions. That she saved millions doing what she did means nothing to the suits. They just want a pretty story for all the press vids.

It's been near two months since the beginning of her trial now, and the tribunal is still dragging its heels about charging her with anything. Shepard has long since stopped attending, because they don't ask her shit anyways. Meanwhile, they're recruiting everybody and anybody that has any opinion on Shepard to give some sort of testimony about her character – everybody except Anderson, that is. Expect him to tell the truth, most likely, and that would ruin the perfect little lie they're putting together.

They haven't asked James himself yet, either. Too bad. He could do with making his opinion known.

He collects Shepard's dinner tray and brings it to her room, later than usual but Shepard is rarely hungry before eight. She's sitting at her desk, but throws him a casual wave before glancing back at her console. An attractive woman is standing before a batarian with a microphone. The batarian glowers down at the smaller human, then at the screen, as though the whole set up isn't his idea.

"What's your opinion on Commander Shepard's trial?" the reporter queries.

The batarian scoffs, all four of his eyes narrowing. "The _Commander_ killed three hundred thousand batarians without thought. She broke into a secure facility and killed a number of batarian patriots, before blowing up the Alpha relay to destroy an entire colony. I'd say she's a criminal of the worst sort."

"And what of those who say that that the batarian slave trade has decimated human populations since our foray into the galactic scene?"

"Slavery is a part of our society," starts the batarian, before the console clicks off.

James sets down the tray and can't help but study the Commander. She's sideways on her chair, one arm draped over the back. One nail is going to be a hell of a lot shorter if the way she's going at it is any indication. She isn't angry, only thoughtful. When she turns those too-blue eyes on him, he has to struggle not to break contact.

"Lieutenant," she says, "I need you to tell me something."

"Shoot," he says.

"Are they talking about the Reapers at all out there? About an invasion? Anything?" Her brow is crinkled with worry, bottom lip bloody from before she switched the abuse to her nails.

It would be really great to be able to say _yeah Commander, defensive manoeuvres are being put into effect as we speak and we've mobilized all the fleets and put the biggest Reaper killing gun on the moon_. The truth is ugly. The tribunal has probably heard of Reapers by now – Anderson has made sure of that – but beyond that, it's pretty much just the three of them on board the invasion train. Life's going on as per usual with everyone else. James has to admit that if he weren't constantly around Shepard, yeah, he might be chilling too.

He knows she won't appreciate the lie though, no matter how comforting it might be. She's like him – give it raw and bloody if that's the truth. So he says, "No, Commander. As far as anyone's concerned, you've got a mean streak towards batarians and that's it."

Shepard nods like that's exactly what she expected, pulling a hand over her face. "And what do you think, Lieutenant?"

James crosses his arms. "I believe you and Anderson, ma'am. You said Saren and Sovereign were a threat – and you were right. You said the Collectors were a threat, and you were right again. Excuse me for saying so, but just because some people have their heads so far up their asses they can't see daylight doesn't mean we all do." He pauses and adds, _ma'am_ as an afterthought.

The smile she gives him causes his heart to swell in his chest. "Thanks LT."

"You know, Commander," he says, even has his brain is shouting that he's a colossal idiot and shut the fuck up Vega and what the hell are you doing, "it's okay if you call me James."

How can someone have such an intense look? James squirms, and can't help but remember being called out by some teacher or another for... hell, he can't remember. Fighting? The teacher had an intense look too, but it was nothing to Shepard's. The Commander has it down to an art form. It lasts about a minute before she sighs, her body going loose, and James wonders why he has the impression that he's put before her some sort of challenge. It's not that hard – call him by his name or ream him out for insubordination. He's just sick of being _Lieutenant_ during their every interaction.

"Listen," she says, "you get extra brownie points because Anderson chose you special, but in the eyes of everyone around here, that's a strike against you. You and I, if we start getting buddy-buddy, it won't bode well for your career if this all goes sideways." She jerks her thumb towards her console. "And since we're already on a steep incline, it might not be in your best interests."

James thinks that's bullshit, but he can't find a way to tell her so. Yeah, yeah, he has a lot of thoughts about brass and their wheelings and dealings, but part of being a soldier is knowing when to keep your trap shut. He's been thinking a lot about her lately – in more ways than one, if he's being honest, even if that's so inappropriate it's like the punchline of a off-colour joke – and he's pretty sure he's got her partway figured.

Shepard at least believes she's doing this for his sake. Really, she's doing it for herself – she likes to keep herself separate, isolated.

She thinks she deserves the meat grinder they're putting her through. Like he said, _bullshit_.

He shrugs it off. "Whatever you say, Commander."

Shaking her head, she stands letting him get a nice view of her shapely legs. She would never be a supermodel, that's for sure, not with muscles like that. Her shorts and t-shirt show that she has muscles on every part of her, tight and toned. She's a marine, not a Barbie doll, and James can only admire the view.

"Do you know if Hackett and Anderson are doing anything about the Reapers?" she asks.

"Scuttlebutt says that Hackett's got the fleets going through formations around Arcturus," replies James, dropping onto the loveseat. "And Anderson's been beating his head against the wall with the brass. Beyond that, don't know much. I'm not important enough to be kept in the loop."

"I hate this," snaps Shepard, slamming an open palm against the wall. James' eyebrows slide up to his hairline. It's the first time she's been angry. "Those Reapers are going to get through eventually, and nobody's doing a damn thing to stop them. People are going to die. Lots of people." When she turns to James, his blood runs cold at the haunted shadow in her eyes. "You didn't see that Collector ship, Lieutenant. They meant to come for Earth."

He's a badass marine, ready to take on any shit that comes his way, but the thought of Earth being harvested makes him sick. That frustration she feels? He's in the same boat. What he wouldn't give to just _kill_ something.

"We'll stop 'em," says James with confidence.

Shepard quirks her mouth at him. "Of course we will," she agrees, and damn, if that's not the sexiest thing he's ever heard come out of a woman's mouth. "Mind you, it _would_ be easier if people would believe a damn thing I said. They keep latching onto the Cerberus angle as a reason to discredit everything I say."

He's never had a hard-on for Cerberus himself, but he can't deny that their help was invaluable in taking down the Collectors. Okay, yeah, he and his squad, they got the data they needed – data that might have helped end those bug-eyed creeps once and for all, but that was _if_ (big_ if_) the Alliance had listened to them. Brass only really started paying attention after too many colonies were hit to ignore. A few hundred thousand people was way too many for simple slave trade; James didn't need to be economist to tell you that one.

"I don't blame them though," continued Shepard. "I hated every second I spent listening to the Illusive Man." She opens the drawer of her desk and pulls out an OSD. James starts to see it, but Shepard flips it over in her hand all casual. She looks up at him through her lashes, faint smile on her lips. She tosses it to him.

"What's this?" he asks.

"Can you get it to Anderson?" is her reply, only it doesn't tell him a damn thing.

His fist closes around it, and he nods, once. "Yeah," he says, "sure thing." Then, because he can't help it, he asks again, "What is it?"

Shepard's eyes go distant, that blue seeming darker somehow, and she's clearly seeing something he can't. She turns her back on him, just like she turned her back on that Toombs guy (and coincidentally or not-so-coincidentally, the camera) and so he knows there's something on her face she doesn't want anyone to see. Her hands are clasped behind her back, loose, because she thinks that will hide the fact that something is wrong. Little does she know, he's a fast learner when it comes to her, and he's damn glad she doesn't, because that would bring up a load of uncomfortable questions.

"That," she says, "is my time with Cerberus."

James leaves then, knowing somehow that was his dismissal.

He's relieved by another marine – Glenn, this time, not Breckett, the asshole who wasn't paying attention during the Toombs debacle – and he makes his way to Anderson's office. The receptionist tells him that Anderson's left for the night, and is this an emergency? No, he guesses it isn't, but he still leaves her with a message for Anderson to contact him asap, because the Commander trusts him to put it straight into the Admiral's hands.

Forty minutes later, he's downing a beer in his own pad. It's not in the nicest part of town, but it's his for now. Give him a bed and a fridge, and he'll make do okay. He slumps down into his faded couch and switches on the vid screen. One of the last hockey games of the season is on, and while it's not really his thing, normally he'd watch because there's no boxing at the moment and he'll take what he can get. Tonight, James slips that OSD out of his pocket and tosses it, once, before inserting it.

From the way his insides are clenching, he knows that he's a complete dick for watching this without Shepard's permission. He hasn't accompanied her to the court proceedings in weeks now, but even without those, he already knows more about her than he probably should from Anderson's briefing, from her media spotlight, from the early testimonies as to her character. But he doesn't really know _her. _He has absolutely fucking no right to look at this footage, and yet he can't help himself. In those stupid questionnaires where they ask for _three characteristics that describe you_, curiosity has never been high on James' list (his three were usually something like, _strong_, _loyal, practical – _though his COs usually changed that last to _reckless_) but all that went down the drain when it came to Shepard.

What the hell is it about her that gets under his skin? She's been his hero, sure, and he beat up all those batarians back on Omega when they disrespected her name. But now she's not just a name, or a face on the screen, or even a list of the most impressive credentials in the Alliance military. Now she's a person.

It's clear as the footage starts playing that Shepard's just accumulated a series of shorter vids and woven them all together. The first one shows an admittedly gorgeous woman making a verbal report, talking about costs and tissues and cellular damage and all the rest of the shit James ignored in school. He skips forward until he comes to what appears to be an x-ray – Shepard's x-ray – and holy shit, he's never seen a body so broken before. He's no doctor and he pretty nearly failed biology back in the day, but that sort of damage usually means you're...

His heartbeat jumps into his chest, and he skips forward.

That woman appears again, talking about how the subject being space preserved cellular integrity or something, and then there's a segment where this skeletal body lies hooked up to tubes and wires on a table. He can't tell who it is, what gender, nothing, but he'd guess female from the way the blanket drapes. This body (James can't think of what else to call it), it has no hair, not even any eyelashes, and the scars that ripple over that flesh look a few fingers deep. To James, it looks more like some alien from a classic vid than anything he's seen out in the galaxy. The body suddenly gasps, chest arched into the sky, and the woman from before snaps something at the – doctor? But that doesn't matter because the lashless eyes open and they're blue and where has he seen them before -?

He's lucky to make it to the bathroom before he starts to vomit up the few swigs of beer he just drank.

Every fantasy he's ever had about Shepard goes down that toilet. It's not fair and he knows it, but he stumbles out of his clothes and into his civvies, flipping off the screen without another glance. He leaves his apartment behind, going to some club down the block where the music is loud enough that he can't hear himself think. Tequila helps too, and he drinks as much as he can swallow. He's not sure how long he stays in that club, but at the end of the night, he goes home with some sultry redhead. When she moans, when she looks in his eyes to tell him _yeah just like that_, her eyes are brown and he can't help but feel stupidly grateful.

**o-o-o**

Shepard's breakfast always consists of two pieces of whole grain toast and black coffee. Today, they come with a special side order of Vega-is-hungover. She's doing situps in nothing but some yoga pants and a sports bra today, her body shining with sweat and normally this would be hot as hell, only, fuck, today his stomach just rolls as he notices for the first time the faint lines that weave their way down his body. He sets down her plate and mug and then tries to leave as fast as he possibly can.

"Rough night, Lieutenant?"

He feels like that time when his _abuela_ caught him eating his mom's birthday cake before the party, all electric shock and panic. Shepard's got this knowing, amused smile as she leaps to her feet, taking a piece of toast and shoving it in her mouth. He must look like a fucking moron, because she points to her own neck. His hand goes to cover it up, and he remembers the hickeys that redhead left on him last night.

He licks his lips. "Uh, yeah."

"And they put you on the morning shift," she says with mock sympathy. "Those bastards."

Normally, this would be the part where he smiled, where he felt the flutter of something deep in his belly, but today all he can see when he looks at her is that ungendered body, gasping awake and the way the flesh was so pale and covered in lines and those blue eyes and... He stops himself, eyes on the ground. He waited so long for her to start opening up to him, and this is the most conversational she's been, only now he just... can't.

Fucking universe. She deserves better. Better than _him_. But he still can't look at her.

"I – I gotta go, Commander," he stammers, taking steps backwards towards the door.

He's almost free when she calls, "You watched it, didn't you?"

The woman is a goddamned psychic. It's the only explanation. The OSD burns a hole in his pocket – Anderson hasn't yet gotten back to him. Now he's the one that can't look at her, that has to hide the emotions on his face. He nods.

She doesn't yell, or swear, or anything really. She just eats her toast like a regular human being, chewing thoughtfully. He risks a glance at her, but she's caught in her own head. After the last bite, she says, "Well, just – just make sure it gets to Anderson, I guess."

James can't help himself. "Aren't you going to get pissed at me? Yell? Something?"

She sips her coffee like the world is fan-fucking-tastic and the birds are singing and whatever. She sighs, her shoulders rising and falling. "I think seeing that was punishment enough."

"So it's real?" he presses, even though every one of his few brain cells are telling him to shut up.

Now she's frowning, with a _what the hell do you think_ expression. It morphs into a smile that's really more of a snarl, and James pities anyone who crosses her on the battlefield. "That's me," she says, voice full of self-deprecation. "I'm Frankenstein's monster." She shakes her head. "Go on, Lieutenant. Get the hell out of here and drink some coffee or something. You look like shit."

He does. It's not until later when he's got his head on straight that he wonders: what must Shepard have felt, seeing that?

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Joker has no problem making his opinions known.


	8. Nine Times to Die

**A/N: **Thus begins our decline towards the end of the story. Thank you so much to my readers and reviewers. Also, forgive me if some of the headings/formatting look strange. This chapter was determined to be a nuisance. That said - enjoy!

* * *

_**Chapter Seven: Nine Times to Die [Case Report: Flight Lieutenant Jeffrey Moreau]**_

**Trial of Commander Kayleigh Shepard**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00857B**

_[Moreau, 30, is slumped in his chair, arms crossed, staring out unimpressed from under his hat. He scratches idly at his beard. His clothes are civilian rather than military, and its obvious he's taken no pains to look his best.]_

TRIBUNAL: Flight Lieutenant, thank you for coming.

MOREAU: Yeah, yeah. Skip ahead. What do you want to know? Shepard's favourite flavour of ice cream? How she treated her pets? Whether she preferred silk or cotton thongs?

TRIBUNAL: We would appreciate it if you'd take this seriously. The Commander's career depends on it.

_[Moreau scoots up in his chair, frowning now.]_

MOREAU: So people keep telling me.

TRIBUNAL: You don't sound very convinced.

MOREAU: I just think it's idiotic that after everything she's done, you're listening to what others have to say instead of just looking at her track record. She ordered the fleet to save the Coucil during Saren's attack – does that scream crazy xenophobic terrorist to you?

TRIBUNAL: We're not discrediting her actions -

MOREAU: Good. Because Shepard is the bravest person I know, and she'd never do a damn thing if she didn't believe it was worth the cost.

TRIBUNAL: You're inclined to think so, aren't you? The Commander saved your life, did she not?

_[Moreau goes quiet, face angry but contained.]_

MOREAU: Yeah. That was such a great day. Thanks for bringing it up.

**o-o-o**

The _Normandy_ was being shot out of the sky, and Shepard had no fucking clue how. They were flying stealthed, and they'd sent no communications for enemy ships to pick up on. There had been no transmission of their coordinates to anyone. Joker was the best damn pilot in the Alliance fleet, and the Normandy was his baby. Something must have gone spectacularly wrong.

She and Kaidan had been preparing to go on a survey mission to Alchera when the blast shook the ship. Looked like they wouldn't be getting those minerals after all. She rushed out of her quarters and to the hall with the sleeper pods, busting open the environmental controls panel with her fist. She rerouted power from all non-essential systems to life support and shields, just enough to give her crew time to escape. Kaidan appeared from nowhere as she's attempting to put out a fire that could fry the whole circuit and make her work pointless.

"Joker's still on the bridge. He won't leave the ship," said Kaidan. He glances over his shoulder at her. "I'm not leaving either."

There was a weight to those words that she couldn't think about. Over the last few months, something had changed in his behaviour. Some softness had crept into his words, and they'd spent more time arguing about omni-tools and tech systems. She could safely say that he was now counted amongst her closest friends, but she didn't know if Kaidan felt the same way or wanted more. She hadn't asked him either – they were marines, damnit, and the last thing she needed was to get involved with a subordinate, considering her career was pretty much the only damn thing she had.

So she grabbed him by the arm and said, "I'll haul Joker's crippled ass out of here. You get to the life pods – that's an order." She pulled the cable from the guns and used it to augment the distress signal, hopefully sending it far enough out into space that it would be received. She didn't want to have to wait for days on Alchera's surface, stuffed into the pods. With a look over her shoulder, she saw Kaidan standing there like an idiot and lost her temper. "Get the hell out of here!"

He went, and she was thankful. In matters of survival, it was proven that Shepard excelled on her own.

Another blast ripped through the mess hall, and she raised her arm to protect her face. She rushed up the stairs, and her mag boots activated as the air was sucked out of the pressurized room behind her. Her legs moved as though she were wading through the deepest snow, and she glanced up to Alchera. It was beautiful, but she wasn't looking to call it home any time soon.

Joker was frantically trying to save the _Normandy_.

"We have to go," she said.

"No," he said, and there was desperation there. "I can still save her."

Normally, if he'd tried to disobey her so directly, she would've shouted at him, but she knew that look of stubborn determination too well. It was too like her own. She knew that desperation, too. Her hand came down softly on his arm. "Jeff," she said, "the _Normandy_ is gone. Your death won't save anything."

All the air rushed out of his body as he slumped over his console, and she knew how great a victory she'd won. The hull shook, and she could see the fuselage getting torn apart by some sort of beam. No time to be gentle. She hauled Joker up out of the chair despite his protestations and shoved him into the escape pod. The gravity field went as what was left of the wiring in the Normandy was fried, and the ground crumbled beneath her. She clung to the console, surveying the scene for some escape.

There wasn't one.

It wasn't a matter of being unafraid – she was damned terrified, because everyone who worked on ships knew exactly what happened when you were spaced – but there was this small part of her that felt only relief as she pushed that button, hearing Joker shout her name. This was her chance to atone for Virmire, for Akuze. To save someone instead of being the last one standing. To let someone else share in the luck, for a change.

But then she was flung from the wreckage and her fear came bubbling up her throat. All she could hear was her own breathing and maybe, just maybe, if she hadn't been about to die, it might've been a nice view. The oxygen started to seep from her suit, and she knew that this was it – the end – but she still fought because that was her nature. She grappled to try and close the oxygen tubes – she'd always been handy, always been able to find a fix to get herself out of situations like this, always been able to think her way out, to scavenge –

**o-o-o**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00857B (Continued)**

_[Moreau gestures with his hands now, face animated.]_

MOREAU: Listen, I've been with Shepard since the beginning. The _very_ beginning. I've flown her ass from one end of the galaxy to the other. I've mutinied for her. I've risked everything for her. Hell, I joined a creepy alien-hating organization with a yen for wacky experiments for her -

TRIBUNAL: The Commander asked you to join Cerberus then?

_[He adjusts his cap with a bark of laughter. His mouth twists sardonically.]_

MOREAU: Guys, if you think Shepard would ask anyone to join Cerberus, you haven't done your research.

TRIBUNAL: We have it on good authority that she recruited numerous persons during her time with Cerberus.

MOREAU: Well, yeah, okay, if you want to use the _loose_ definition of _join_, then yeah, she got some people to _work with_ Cerberus to fight the Collectors. But she made it clear from the get-go that we worked for her, not for Cerberus, and everyone knew it.

_[Moreau pauses, scratching his beard.]_

MOREAU: Okay, almost everyone.

**o-o-o**

**FWD:**

CONFIDENTIAL**  
**

**ALLIANCE PSYCHOLOGICAL EVALUATION**

Name: Flight Lieutenant Jeffrey Moreau  
Date of Birth: 09/11/2156  
Gender: Male  
Date of Examination: 03/08/2183  
Referral Question: Explore for presence of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, with the specific symptom of survivor guilt.  
Medical History: See Attached

Discussion of Observations:

Jeff appeared argumentative and defensive throughout the interview, often using sarcasm and/or humour to deflect away from his personal feelings. While willing to answer questions about the mission to stop Saren and the geth, he resisted any urge to communicate about the events during and immediately following the destruction of the SR1 _Normandy_. Any attempt to discuss Commander Kayleigh Shepard's death resulted in immediate, sullen silence followed by a recounting by Jeff of Shepard's various qualities, all using the present tense.

Approximately one month ago, the SR1 _Normandy_ was attacked by an unknown source – believed by Alliance officials to be an early prototype geth dreadnought. Jeff was prepared to discuss everything leading up to the attack: how the sensors were clear, the frustration of the crew at being stuck in the Traverse, how the stealth capabilities of his ship were operational. Upon being struck by the enemy ship's weapons, Jeff proceeded to use his expertise to save the ship. While the rest of the crew evacuated aboard the escape pods, Jeff remained behind.

He refused to comment beyond this point, except on one occasion where he uttered, "It was my fault, you know – I killed her" before once again resuming his stoic silence.

[...]

**o-o-o**

Shepard was on a war path. If she'd been a biotic, she was pretty sure she'd be tearing apart the fancy metal walls of the _Normandy_ with her mind. She blew through the laboratory from the briefing room, and she heard Mordin call after her, but she ignored him. She enjoyed talking science with the salarian, but now was not the time. She was on a high fuelled by rage, and she wasn't looking to come down any time soon. She smashed the button on the elevator, tapping her foot impatiently as it descended to the crew deck.

She meant to head into Lawson's office, but the Cerberus operative was pouring herself a cup of coffee in the mess. During her Alliance career as a commissioned officer, Shepard had prided herself on being professional. But, as everyone was quick to point out, she wasn't Alliance anymore. Horizon had been a shit show, and finding out that the Illusive man _knew_ Kaidan was going to be there... She could barely hear herself breathing over the sound of her anger.

Her hand came down hard on the counter, the slam reverberating through the room. The crew members looked up in surprise, as did Lawson, lifting one perfectly sculpted brow in Shepard's direction.

"Did you know?" demanded Shepard.

Miranda spooned sugar into her coffee. "I'm afraid you're going to have to be more specific, Commander."

"Did you know that Horizon was bait?" ground out Shepard. "Did you know that the Illusive Man let slip about Horizon to the Alliance? About Cerberus' involvement? That he all but _lured_ the Collectors to Horizon?"

Lawson stopped mid-stir. She lifted her cup to her mouth. "No," she said.

Shepard was undeterred, rage twining about her nervous system. She took a step closer to Lawson. "Why is it that I don't believe you?"

"Because you don't trust me," said Lawson, suddenly angry – something that annoyed Shepard even more, because if anyone should be angry here, it certainly wasn't _Miranda_.

"You're damn right, I don't," agreed Shepard, and now she got all up in Lawson's face, like she learned from her time in the Reds. "And I don't play well with liars. So I'm asking you one more time – _did you know_?"

"I didn't know what the Illusive Man was planning, no," admitted Lawson, "but I know that if he did it, it must have been worth it. The intel we collected on that mission may prove vital to saving future colonies."

And because there was nothing else to say, and because Shepard didn't really have the energy to be polite, she said exactly what she thought, which was, "_Bullshit._"

With an angry puff, Lawson set down her cup and ran her hand through her hair. Those perfect blue eyes glanced at the mess hall tables, and Shepard knew that the crew was listening. She could hear them trying to keep up a conversation, Joker especially, but it was too strained, too quiet to be anything but a front. "Can we talk in my quarters, Shepard?"

"No, I don't think we can," said Shepard, and got some sick joy out of seeing Lawson's eyes go tight. "I think this concerns the crew, don't you think? The Illusive Man thought it would be okay to sacrifice a whole colony for intel. That might be the sort of thing his employees might want to know." She spun, eyes alighting on one of the crew. "Hadley," she called. The man in question looked up, obviously uncomfortable at being singled out. "How would you have felt if it had been Ferris Fields the Illusive Man had chosen as a potential sacrificial lamb?"

The man's eyes went hard. "I – Not pleased, Commander."

"Shepard -" said Lawson, voice sharp.

But Shepard wasn't done. The anger was riding her like a cheap date. "And what about you Rolston? Would you have been okay with your boss sacrificing your family on New Canton?"

Rolston didn't even hesitate. "No ma'am."

Shepard said, "Joker, doesn't your family live on Tiptree?"

"If the Illusive Man pulls any shit there, I'm crashing something into his house," threatened Joker. "Something _big_." Though his tone was light, there was something dark in his eyes.

Shepard gestured at her crew with a _what you gonna do_ gesture. Lawson was positively livid, and Shepard wondered if this was going to come to blows. She certainly hoped so. She'd been playing nice ever since being pulled into this Cerberus operation, and she was getting tired of it.

Lawson didn't take the bait though. She held her hands out in a placating manner, like Shepard was some small kid throwing a temper tantrum. "Shepard, listen, I know you carry a grudge against Cerberus for what happened on Akuze, but I assure you that Cerberus doesn't make a habit of destroying colonies. We'd only do so for the greater good." She turned to the crew, opening her mouth as if to try and placate them as well, but Shepard moved in her way.

One way to piss Shepard off, as Kaidan's jaw would attest, was to mention Akuze. Suddenly, there was no joy to be had in taking Miranda down a peg. There was no satisfaction. There was only a grim ache and the scorching chill of Shepard's own rage. "Don't pull the company line with me, _operative_. I've seen your company destroy more colonies than the Collectors, at this point. You don't get to act all high and mighty."

"Certain splinter groups have broken from under the Illusive Man's control in the past -"

"Then he's not fucking doing his job," snapped Shepard. "There comes a point where _someone_ has to be responsible. All fingers point to him. Either he set up all those experiments – including Akuze – and he's trying to cover his tracks by lying about it, or he's just fucking incompetent. I don't know which is worse."

The crew was so quiet Shepard could hear them all hold their breaths. Lawson had dropped her hands, face set in grim resolve. "Shepard," she said.

"If you try to justify Akuze in any way to me, Miranda," said Shepard quietly, "we're going to have problems. Problems that involved your perfect insides being splattered all over the floor. The Illusive Man spent over four billion credits to bring me back. Who do you think he would choose, you or me?" When Lawson didn't answer, Shepard allowed herself a small, unhappy smile. "That's what I thought."

Before she left the mess, she stopped before the assembled crew and unlike with Lawson, she set her hands gently on the table, hanging her head. "Cerberus might be footing the bill here, but I'm in the one in charge. I'm telling you all upfront: I don't like Cerberus. I'll work with them to save the colonies, but do not expect me to respect them as an organization. I won't be angry if you disagree, but I need to know if anyone has any problems following my command."

A few chairs scuffed back, and Shepard thought, _well, that's that_. So she was surprised when she glanced up and saw every one of her crew – and they were _her_ crew now, in a way they hadn't been before – saluting her.

"Then let's go kick some Collector ass," she said.

This time, her smile was genuine.

**o-o-o**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00857B (Continued)**

TRIBUNAL: Tell us about your supposed trip through the Omega-4 relay.

_[Moreau's eyes narrow.]_

MOREAU: There's nothing _supposed_ about it. Collectors took the crew, and Shepard went to save them. Oh, and to destroy the Collectors as a fun side trip.

TRIBUNAL: The Collectors infiltrated your ship?

MOREAU: Isn't that what I just said?

TRIBUNAL: But not you? How did you manage to escape?

_[Moreau opens his mouth and closes it. He attempts to make his face neutral and fails utterly.]_

MOREAU: I hid.

TRIBUNAL: Your fellows were being taken, and you hid?

MOREAU: Listen buddy, I don't know if you've read my file, but I'm not exactly built for combat. There's only one thing I can do, and that's fly. Shepard was going to need me to get through the relay, and I – I knew that, so I hid.

TRIBUNAL: Very well. What happened then?

MOREAU: We flew through the relay and then Shepard ran into the Collector base and did what she did best.

TRIBUNAL: Which is?

_[A grim smile stretches across his face.]_

MOREAU: She kicked ass and took names.

TRIBUNAL: And the crew survived?

MOREAU: I don't know where you've been, but Shepard's the best. She got back everyone. Every single person. And then she told the Illusive Man to fuck himself.

**o-o-o**

**FWD:**

**Vid File – LAZARUS302. avi  
**

_[An admittedly beautiful woman – dark hair, pale skin, vibrant blue eyes - stands before the camera. She stares straight into it, as though this were a diary or journal of some sort. Her brows are knotted together in thought.]_

WOMAN: Progress is slow, but subject shows signs of recovery. Major organs are again functional and there are signs of rudimentary neurological activity. In an effort to accelerate the process, we've moved from simple organic reconstruction of the subject to bio-synthetic fusion. Initial results show promise.

**Vid File – LAZARUS001. avi  
**

_[It's the same woman, speaking into the camera as before.]_

WOMAN: Test subject has been recovered but the damage is worse than we initially feared. In addition to the expected burns and internal injuries from the explosion, subject has suffered severe cellular breakdown due to vacuum and subzero temperatures. Despite the extent of the physical trauma, Wilson assures me the subject is salvageable. The Lazarus Project will proceed as planned.

**o-o-o**

It had been a long day. Flight through the Omega-4 relay. Battle through the Collector base. Destruction of a proto-Reaper. Shepard's bruises had bruises, purple splotches covering the better part of her armour. Winning that had been good enough, despite the nightmares she was sure were going to follow her for the next week at the very least – but to top it all off, she finally got to tell the Illusive Man where to shove it.

So even though she wanted to sleep for a month, it had been the best damn day in ages.

There was a knock at the door. Shepard glanced upwards. "EDI?"

"Operative Lawson is at the door," said EDI.

Normally, Shepard would tell Lawson to go away, but she'd taken the operative with her to the inside of the Collector base. When the Illusive Man had asked Shepard to save the Reaper – the thought still repulsed her for the sheer fucking nerve of it – she and Lawson had both been equally appalled. That alone was enough to make Shepard open that door.

Lawson looked... nervous. Her hands were wringing together in a gesture normally exclusive to Tali, eyes downcast. She met Shepard's gaze, then looked away with an annoyed huff, running a hand through her hair, pacing the room. For her part, Shepard leaned against the aquarium, waiting.

"Shepard," said Lawson, "I owe you an apology."

Very nearly falling right over on her ass, Shepard said, "Excuse me?"

There was some very real pain on Lawson's face. "You were right. About the Illusive Man. About Cerberus." She held up her hand to stop any interruptions. "I won't say that Cerberus didn't do some good – our victory, this ship, you, that's all evidence of it – but..." Blue biotics swirled around Lawson's fists. "How could I have been so blind? I never thought that he would trade hundreds of thousands of human lives, and for what? An edge against the competition? The chance that humanity might be dominant?"

If Shepard had ever pictured this day – she never had, she hadn't thought it likely – she might've expected to feel some grim satisfaction. She didn't. That emotion she felt, it was pity for Lawson – no, for Miranda. Shepard knew what it was like to have your leader, the person you trusted, the person you to whom you were completely loyal turn out to be a fucking psychopath. It always hurt, to know you'd misplaced your love – loyalty, whatever.

"So I'm sorry," finished Miranda, lamely.

"Apology accepted," said Shepard instantly. Oh, she'd never forget that Miranda had stood up as – what did Jack call her? A Cerberus cheerleader? But then, she doubted Miranda herself would forget either.

Miranda only blinked. "Shepard – I..."

"I told a friend once that I believe in second chances," said Shepard. She pushed off from the aquarium to stand before Miranda. "I didn't give one to Cerberus because they didn't deserve one. You..." She paused, then held out a hand. "Make sure you do."

With a resolute nod, Miranda shook her hand, saying, "I will."

Shepard smiled. "Joker?"

"Yes, Commander?"

"Set a course for the Citadel. Tell the crew that drinks are on Cerberus."

"Aye aye ma'am," replied Joker over the comm, voice smug.

Miranda laughed, and Shepard couldn't remember ever hearing it before. "I don't think our old boss is going to like that."

"Good," said Shepard. She made a vague _shoo_ gesture. "Go on. Why don't you go get some shuteye?"

The other woman didn't move, but shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Shepard," she said, and pulled an OSD out of her pocket. "There are – there are things I haven't told you. Things you haven't seen. About... About how Cerberus saved you." She held the small device out. "About your resurrection."

Shepard reached out to take it, and couldn't shake the feeling that whatever was on it, it wasn't going to be pretty.

**o-o-o**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00857B (Continued)**

_[Moreau leans forward in his seat, more serious now than he's ever been.]_

MOREAU: So I have a question to ask. What are you going to do to Shepard?

TRIBUNAL: We can't discuss that.

MOREAU: She's a hero. You didn't see her after the Alpha-4 incident, but she definitely wasn't cackling to herself like an evil villain. I don't think I've ever seen her more upset.

TRIBUNAL: Regardless of the Commander's emotion, we are trying her on her actions and her intent.

MOREAU: Well, her intent was good, I promise you. She was trying to save us all.

TRIBUNAL: You're dismissed, Flight Lieutenant.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **Shepard receives some unexpected news and tries to distract herself.


	9. Dead Hands, Dead Stringencies

_**Chapter Eight: Dead Hands, Dead Stringencies **_

Hot water pours over her body. Despite her best efforts, she can't get the Lieutenant's face out of her mind – and not in a middle school crush sort of way, either. Her fingertips trace the patterns of her scars down her body. They've faded now, nearly to the point of being invisible, but she can still _feel_ them. When Chakwas had mentioned a new medical device to help Shepard rid herself of them, the Commander had put it off. Following their impromptu Omega-4 relay trip, though, she'd coughed up the cash.

Especially after Miranda showed her those damn files. There's no way Shepard could've spent the rest of her life looking at those scars without feeling sick to her stomach. Even the faint valleys running through her flesh now are too much. They're a constant reminder that Cerberus rebuilt her – for real. It wasn't a coma, it was flatline dead. She'd thought she'd dealt with it, and then...

And then the Lieutenant's face as he looked at her. Like she wasn't a person, but some sort of science experiment gone horribly wrong. She didn't want him to look at her like she was fucking Wonder Woman made real, but she didn't want to be a zombie either. If she was the crying type, well, now might been the time.

What she does instead is try to remind herself that she's alive. She fingers those scars all the way down to between her legs, leaning her body up against the slick wall of the shower. For shits and giggles, she allows herself to imagine it's the Lieutenant's hand touching her, that she's leaning up against his chest as his hand brings her closer and closer, that he gets to see her be so damned _alive_ that all he wants to do is push her up against the wall, rough and hard without that horrified expression, and god, when she finishes, she feels better than she has in _ages._

Shepard exits the shower and wraps her robe around her body, content to know that she definitely doesn't think of the Lieutenant that way, or if she _does_, it's just because he's pretty much the only damn man she's seen since being taken into custody.

Her bathroom door slides open and, it's official that the fucking galaxy hates her, because the Lieutenant is there dropping off her breakfast. Shepard remains calm, even when his eyes come to rest on her mostly naked form. This isn't any different than her training in the upper ranks of the N program – unisex showers were common on special forces teams. You got used to it – or you didn't, and you quit the program. Shepard used to see her body as something that carried her around, as a tool to get the job done.

That was before Cerberus decided to take that tool and try to make it _theirs._ It was before she realized how her scars – and tattoos, for that matter – made her, well, her. She has new scars now, but it isn't the same.

She smiles at the Lieutenant and says, "Morning," before heading to the dresser to pick out some clothes. She can feel his eyes on her, and ignores the way her body pulses. She pulls out some pants, underwear, bra and shirt.

The Lieutenant says, "I brought you some mail." He holds up some datapads, then places them next to her toast. His eyes are glued to his shoes as he peels away from the room.

She sighs, leaning back against her dresser, face pulling into a frown. This attitude of his has gone on far enough. She's move passed understanding and into annoyed. "Is this how it's going to be from now on? I said we had to remain professional, Lieutenant, not catatonic." Then she raises her hand to hold off his reply. "You know what? Never mind."

She's almost to the bathroom when, very quietly from behind her, the Lieutenant says, "I'm sorry, Commander."

Her head has whipped around before she can stop it, and she can hear the broken glass in her voice when she says, "For watching those files, or for what happened? Because if it's the latter, I don't need your fucking pity."

The Lieutenant reels back for a moment, but recovers quickly. He nods, once, and some of that haunted expression leaks out of his face. He looks at her like he's never really seen her before, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I actually meant that I was sorry for watching them in the first place. Really wasn't any of my business. Stuck my nose where it didn't belong." He's very nearly sheepish now, shrugging so his shoulders practically come up to his ears. "I guess – I guess I just, I don't know, wanted to know how you did it."

"Did what?" asks Shepard, crossing her arms.

"All of it," huffs the Lieutenant, spreading his arms wide. "How you survived Akuze, how you stopped Saren, how you survived the destruction of your ship, how you... how you destroyed the Collectors."

Shepard has a flash of insight. "You lose someone to the Collectors?"

His face shuts down in a way she recognizes – it's one of her signature moves. "Yeah," he says, but doesn't elaborate.

She's reminded of a less naive, more capable Conrad Verner – a thought that's probably unkind towards the Lieutenant. They both think she's some prize, that she's this paragon of humanity, but really, she's just stumbling in the dark. Sure, a killer skill set sure is helpful, but since she's been guided only by Prothean visions and terrorist intel, it's a miracle she's gotten as far as she has. And, following Akuze, she's never done it alone. She's always had an amazing team with her.

"Luck, mostly. Some skill," she says, "and a whole lot of strings. I'm not superwoman, Lieutenant."

The Lieutenant smiles softly to himself, rolling his eyes slightly. "Could've fooled the rest of us." Seeing Shepard's raised eyebrow, he holds up his hands in surrender. "I just – thanks. And, I'm sorry. Again."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. Now get out of here, before someone checks in and thinks I'm trying to seduce my way to better treatment." Shepard gestures down at herself, then points at the door.

He wants to say something. She can tell. Knowing his type, probably something flirty, but good for him, he just salutes her and leaves. Shepard chuckles to herself, closing the door to the bathroom just in case he decides to come back. Fantasy fodder he may be, but they aren't friends. They can't be. She was only half joking when she said he had to leave. She and the Lieutenant start getting too cozy, and you can be damned sure they'll be slapping her ass with someone not nearly so sympathetic.

And wow, that sounded way better before she thought too much into it. She needs to get her mind out of the fucking gutter.

When she's dressed, she heads back into her small room and sits at the loveseat, shoving a piece of toast into her mouth and dragging her coffee mug close. She takes up those datapads. Most of the messages are updates from Hackett – always vague. Can't be telling war criminals the details of fleet manoeuvres. There are a few from various media outlets looking to get an interview – no thank you. The one at the bottom is just signed _A_ but she knows exactly who it's from. It says:

_This came through the offices. Thought you might like to see it. It's your choice, Shepard – but we both know that tomorrow is uncertain. It'll be tricky, but if you agree, I'll pull some strings to make it happen. _

Her coffee cup stops halfway to her mouth as she reads. She has to set it down when her hand starts to shake. She reads it until she could recite it from heart, and then sets it down, dropping her head into her hands, wondering why every time she gets knocked down, there's someone with a shotgun waiting to blow her away.

**o-o-o**

Someone brings her lunch at some point: a slowly drying sandwich on the table and an untouched glass of orange juice. Shepard wonders when that was. It's nearing eight now, nearly time for her dinner, and she's been plugged into her omni-tool all day, coding and manipulating while listening to the loudest, grungiest music she can find. When she gets focused, everything else disappears. It centres her. Usually, she can just hop on her ship and fly to the nearest merc base and that'll do it, but since this room is her only playground, well, tech it is.

Most people forget that she likes machines – the irony would probably be too much to bear. Most people don't know that she runs an omni-tool she built herself, albeit one she had to fuck up the ass when she was incarcerated, taking out most of her speciality programs and severing her connection to the extranet. That's okay though, that they don't know or don't care, because it gives Shepard an advantage. She might not be as good with engines as Tali, or guns as Garrus, but hell, when it comes to everything else, she's pretty much boss.

Also? It's the one thing she likes to show off.

The Lieutenant brings her dinner, stopping to glance at her untouched sandwich and frowning. "Weren't hungry?"

"Been busy," she says over her shoulder.

Sarcasm practically drips from his words. "Oh yeah, I can see that – small room like this. Tons to entertain yourself with." And because she's spent the better part of her life hanging out with guys, she can feel the second the atmosphere changes in the room because, oh, he's stumbled across _that_ thought.

Her defensiveness has nothing to do with the fact that he's almost too close for comfort. Leaping from her chair, she orders, "Put that down." He raises an eyebrow, but does as she says. "Now, give me your arm."

His skin is warmer than she thought it would be, but she doesn't have time to think about that right now. She taps his wrist where the connector to his omni-tool is located, causing fabricator to light up and the tool to become active. She moves his arm so that it's at nearly a ninety degree angle with his body, and so that she can type on the holographic interface and access his GPU.

"Gonna tell me what you're up to?" he asks.

"I invented something," Shepard confides, fingers flying across his interface. "I can't use it though – I'm a prisoner. They'd think I was set on killing you or escaping. Really, I just want to see if it works."

"Invented something?" says the Lieutenant doubtfully.

She gives him her _look_, the one that makes mercs piss themselves, and he backs off. Voice tight, she says, "Yes, _invented_. I can shoot up a place as good as anyone, but if you can handle tech, you add a little finesse, you know?"

"Not really," admits the Lieutenant. "Tech's never really been my thing."

"That's too bad. It's damned useful," says Shepard. She opens the fabricator and finishes typing. A new piece immediately appears, and she grins, flipping it shut. She takes a few steps back. "Okay, now, you know how to use an omni-blade, right?"

"I said I wasn't into tech, I didn't say I was an idiot," he says, looking grumpy.

She flaps her hand impatiently at him. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Just make like you're going to stab me and we'll see if it works. Same way as always."

He's sceptical. "Is this safe?"

"It might electrocute you," says Shepard, but can't keep her face straight at his look of indignation. She cracks up, backing away. "Okay, that was mean. Yes, Lieutenant, it's perfectly safe. I'd be trying it out myself if not for, well, prison." She gestures at him to go for it.

He swings, and the blade materializes and flips about, only it's not a blade anymore. It's a prong with an electrical current running through it. His face is covered in surprise.

"Since you're not seizing on the ground in unprecedented pain, I'm going to assume it works," announces Shepard, getting closer and inspecting the construction. She hems and haws over it. "The current could be stronger. Right now it would give only a bad shock, nothing more. Need quite a few more volts to incapacitate a hostile. For that much energy, though, I'd need to integrate a larger battery. Unlike with overload, which uses an enemy's own circuitry to override their shields, this needs an internal power source to function." She runs her hand across her chin and notices his funny expression. "What?"

"You're totally a nerd," he says, like it's this huge revelation that will shatter society as people know it.

"Yeah? And?" she says, hands on hips. "I could still kick your ass."

The Lieutenant puts away his omni-tool. "I didn't say it was a bad thing. Actually, it's kind of..." He clamps up, shrugging. "Anyways, there's your dinner."

Eyes narrowed, Shepard says, "Kind of what?"

"How come you didn't eat your lunch?" he asks, deflecting. "Higgins brought it in, but said you were in your own little world. I guess I know what you were doing, huh?"

What she could do now is be a total bitch and make him tell her. She's learned all sorts of mean interrogation techniques. She could put the fear of God into him, and he'd tell her everything she wanted to know. She won't, because she respects his privacy and hey, everyone's put their foot in their mouth at some point. That and he's not looking at her like she's the living dead anymore, and he _did_ apologize earlier, so he gets a few brownie points. But only a few.

"Yeah," she says, dropping backwards onto a chair. "I work on tech to keep my mind off shit. Used to do it more before blowing people up became my defacto hobby."

"Trial got you down?"

"Not really." Shepard chewed on her bottom lip, hoisting herself up slightly on her elbows. "Can I ask you something? Something that might seem a little strange?"

The Lieutenant shrugs and crosses his arms. "Yeah. Sure. Go for it."

"If you had the chance to meet your mom for the first time, would you?" she asks, then scrambles on. "I mean, what if she wasn't what you imagined? What if she wasn't what you expected? What if she'd done really terrible things? Would you want to?"

He scratches the back of his neck, letting out a low whistle. "Didn't go for the easy one, did you?" He sees her waiting oh so patiently and shrugs again. "Shit, I don't know." He pauses. "Wait, you saying your mom tried to get in contact with you?"

That thing she's been avoiding all day is staring her straight in the face, and she's pretty sure she might vomit. She flops backwards, arms over her face. Her heart racing, she offers, "It's been a really weird day."

It gets so quiet that after a while, she's sure she must've fallen asleep or something, but when she removes her arms from her face, the Lieutenant sits across from her, thinking hard. He smiles slightly. "I've been trying to think of some really smart advice," he says. "I got nothing."

"Don't worry about it," she assures him. "Me neither."

Shepard wonders how he can be sitting here with her, very nearly comforting her, when not too long ago, he watched footage that probably... Well, she doesn't want to think about what it fucking _probably_. On the day when he'd come in, she'd just _known _what had happened and part of her had been pleased. That, she'd thought, would be that. She didn't have to worry about becoming friends with him or blurring the lines of professionalism if he was so disgusted and appalled by the idea of her her that he kept his distance. It had been easier in theory than practice.

And really, he's not a friend, but she's been here for months and he's the closest she's got. Some days they say very little to each other. Some days – like today, after a long hiatus – they say more. He's fair and she's sure he looks out for her in his own way, when he's able. He's easy on the eyes, and her libido clearly has no trouble using his likeness to achieve satisfaction.

She wonders, idly, what the symptoms of Stockholm syndrome are, and if she should be concerned. Shepard almost brings this up, but she catches those brown eyes of his and can't. It would be too much like kicking a puppy, only no puppy ever had eyes that serious. If this were a romance vid – or hell, if this experience is ever made into a vid – she imagines some narrator discussing how it was at that moment that her heart started flip-flopping in her chest, how in the quiet of that prison room she fell in love with her jailer, how she didn't know when exactly it had happened. Yeah, that's what the narrator would say.

Too bad it's not true. There's a budding affection there, but Shepard hasn't fallen in love in, god, ages. Too long. She keeps a tight reign on her emotions – and her hormones – so that she can do the best job possible. Period. Besides, she's special ops and until recently, she's been tasked with saving the galaxy. What about suicide missions screams _now is the time to be emotionally compromised_? Nothing, that's what.

Her stomach grumbles and she sits up. The Lieutenant stands, giving her a small nod and picking up her aged sandwich. "I'll leave you to it, Commander."

"Hey, LT," she calls. "If you get the chance to head down to the training room, let me know how that prototype holds up, will you?"

"Sure thing," he says.

When she's alone, she retrieves the datapad from where she chucked it across the room. She reads through the letter again, all while spooning spaghetti into her mouth. She's read it a few dozen times by the time her plate is clean, and, firing up her omni-tool, she types a quick reply.

_Anderson – tell her "okay". _

* * *

**Next Chapter: **Hackett steps up to the plate. _  
_


	10. There Is a Charge, a Very Large Charge

**A/N: **Thank you to everyone who read and/or reviewed! It means a lot. This chapter is (comparatively) short, but I wanted to get something up for you. :)

P.S. I love Hackett.

* * *

_**Chapter Nine: There is a Charge, a Very Large Charge [Case Report: Admiral Steven Hackett]**_

**Trial of Commander Kayleigh Shepard**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00547H**

_[Admiral Hackett, 52, sits on his chair, rod straight, face impenetrable. He hasn't removed his hat, nor does he seem inclined to do so. His arms are folded loosely over his chest.]_

TRIBUNAL: We all appreciate you making an appearance, Admiral.

_[Hackett inclines his head but says nothing.]_

TRIBUNAL: How long have you known Commander Shepard?

HACKETT: Nearly ten years.

TRIBUNAL: And when did you first meet?

HACKETT: Just after the massacre on Akuze. I visited her in the hospital on Arcturus.

TRIBUNAL: Why?

HACKETT: I was presenting her with her N7 commendation.

TRIBUNAL: Can you give us your impression of the Commander at that time?

_[He sighs, scratching at his chin.]_

HACKETT: You want to know what I thought? I thought, here's a girl who's been through hell and survived. I was only in the room with her for minutes at most, but I was damned impressed. She was obviously beaten down, but she wasn't out, not by a long shot.

**o-o-o**

Even with her face shoved into her pillow, she heard the door open. Shepard debated whether or not to check who it was, but in the end, exhaustion combined with delicious medication made her decide against it. Her back felt like some huge beast was sinking its fangs into her, even with the copious amounts of morphine being pumped into her system. She wasn't an idiot – she knew it was bad. That fucking thresher maw had melted her back away, down to the fucking bone. It would heal, but not quickly, and not painlessly.

They were prepping skin grafts for her, but she had yet to have the surgery. Some doctor or other had also discussed cloning some of her own tissue for cosmetic purposes later, but Shepard had asked if she'd be able to function without them. When the answer was _yes_, she told him to fuck off. She was the only damn person from her whole squad to make it out of that hellhole alive. The least she could have was an ugly ass scar on her back.

A throat cleared near her, and Shepard forced her head to the side, blinking blearily. A man in dress blues stood next to her bed, surveying the wreckage that was her back. From the stripes on his shoulders, he was up there, though her mind wasn't coherent enough for her to figure out his rank.

"I'd salute, sir," she mumbled, "but I'm a little out of sorts, here."

His laugh was little more than a puff of air, but his mouth quirked up. "After what you've been through, feel free to do whatever makes you feel comfortable."

"Much obliged," she replied, blinking rapidly to try and purge the drugs from her system – but, you know, not too much, because she rather liked _not_ screaming in excruciating pain. "If you don't mind me asking, sir, who are you?"

The man took the one uncomfortable looking chair in the room and dragged it up next to her bed. "I'm Rear Admiral Hackett," he said, folding his hands on her bed but careful not to touch her at all.

"Wow," said Shepard, and was pleased that she sounded as surprised as she felt. "And what's a Rear Admiral want with me?"

"I'm supposed to convey sympathy on behalf of the Systems Alliance military," he said gently.

Shepard couldn't help but snort, prompting this Hackett guy to raise his eyebrows at her. Refraining from rolling her eyes, or, god forbid, crying, she steeled herself. "With all due respect, sir, I'm still alive, so you can take your sympathy and shove it. Save it for all those corpses down on Akuze." Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she couldn't help her yawn.

"Well said," remarked Hackett, with something that sounded suspiciously like pride. "But I'm afraid I have one more piece of business to finish before I can leave you be."

"Is it court martialing me for telling a superior officer to _shove it_? Because I can get a dozen doctors to attest to the fact that I'm loaded up on pain medication right now, so my judgement is only fifty-fifty."

"It's an N-school commendation," said Hackett quietly.

All thoughts of sleep vanish, and Shepard pushes herself up onto her elbows, ignoring the pain in her back or the way Hackett's brows cinch together in concern. "Are you kidding me? You can't be serious. I'm the only surviving member of my whole platoon, and I'm nominated for a chance to become _special forces_? What the fuck for?"

"You did an impossible thing," said Hackett. "You survived in a brutal situation. You were heavily injured and confronted with a foe that killed not only fifty other marines, but a few hundred colonists as well. You kept your head, and no only did you survive, you crafted your own beacon that served to warn rescue ships and led to the eventual take down of the thresher maw."

"When you put it like that, you make it sound like it was fucking glamourous," snarls Shepard, aware that she's talking to a _very_ superior officer, but somehow unable to curb herself. "It wasn't. I lived because I was lucky. Because I was just a little bit quicker. I'm not special or anything."

"I think we can agree to disagree on that matter."

If she hadn't already mouthed off to the nth degree, she might've felt the urge to punch that soft look from Hackett's face. She got it what felt like a million times a day, mostly from her doctors, and the urge to answer with violence was never far behind. Unlike the doctors, Hackett looked like he could take it... but her military career wouldn't survive, she was sure.

"Do I have to accept?" she said, easing herself back down onto her stomach.

"You don't have to do anything, Shepard. But if I were you, I would consider it. Even getting through the first N school would do great things for your career."

"You're assuming that I'm going to be getting out of this bed anytime soon."

"You will," said Hackett, and he sounded so sure. Nobody ever sounded that sure when she was the subject.

"Docs still aren't sure on that. I need to get grafts," she said. "They mentioned something about maybe needing physio too."

Hackett just smiled. "You will." He stood, giving her a grave nod. "At least think about it. I have a good feeling about you. Heal up. Shepard." Spinning, he turned and left the room with as much fanfare as he'd entered.

She laid there a long time, thinking about what he said.

**o-o-o**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00547H (Continued)**

_[One of Hackett's legs is folded loosely over the other, his hands resting in his lap.]_

TRIBUNAL: Can you explain why the Commander happened to be on Aratoht?

HACKETT: I sent her there.

TRIBUNAL: For what purpose?

HACKETT: Doctor Amanda Kenson was being held by batarians. I wanted her retrieved – quietly – and returned to Alliance space.

TRIBUNAL: And why did you choose the Commander for this particular mission?

_[Hackett sighs deeply.]_

HACKETT: Formally, she was no longer part of the Alliance military. Her actions could be spun as a rogue individual acting without the knowledge or approval of Alliance officials – _if_ she was caught. We could've claimed that she was a Cerberus agent, and not our problem.

TRIBUNAL: Was the Commander aware of this plan?

HACKETT: No. I said _if _she got caught.

TRIBUNAL: So you didn't anticipate the catastrophe that occurred?

HACKETT: If you're asking whether or not I thought she'd blow up an entire system, the short answer is no.

**o-o-o**

**MILITARY CORRESPONDENCE **

From: Rear Admiral Hackett  
To: Major Ri Se-Hung

Major -  
Keep me apprised of Kayleigh Shepard's performance.

From: Major Ri Se-Hung  
To: Rear Admiral Hackett

Sir,

You'll be pleased to know that 2nd Lieutenant Shepard has completed her Interplanetary Combatives Training with the highest honours. She has been awarded the coveted N7 designation for performance above and beyond the call of duty. While completing her final mission, she and her squad were pinned down. Many were killed in combat, but the Lieutenant managed to buy time for a few to escape, and escorted one through days of dense jungle.

On a personal note, Admiral, I have to say that watching Shepard work is a true pleasure. She was born for leadership, that much is clear, and while there are others who have better endurance, better aim, or even biotics, she makes up for everything she lacks with a sheer force of will.

It is my belief that she will go on to accomplish great things for the Alliance.

Sincerely,

Major Ri Se-Hung

From: Rear Admiral Hackett  
To: Major Ri Se-Hung

Major -  
That's what I thought. Thanks.

**o-o-o**

Her hands hadn't stopped trembling since her last second rescue. Shepard held them out in front of her, watching them. Were they from the adrenaline rush, a leftover of the drugs that had impaired her for near two days, or were they because she'd just destroyed an entire system, with hundreds of thousands of people? She clamped down tight on her bottom lip to stop that from wobbling too, opening and closing her hands as though that would suddenly make them okay. She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths.

Images of the Reapers leaped into that darkness unbidden, some weird ass combination of the Prothean beacon mixing with the newer information from Object Rho. She wrenched her eyes open and looked at her hands again. Still shaking. What if she was indoctrinated? She could still remember Kenson with her glowing yellow eyes, could still remember the deep, booming bass that whispered words into the back of her head.

Doctor Chakwas entered, bringing with her a small sandwich and a bottle of water. She set them on the bed next to Shepard, then took a seat, wheeling herself over with a datapad.

"How are you feeling?"

"Do you remember after Eden Prime when I was uneasy for days?" asked Shepard.

"It's not something I'm likely to forget," acknowledged Chakwas. "You seem to be doing remarkably better this time. You slept quite soundly, but you weren't near comatose like last time. You should probably eat, though – your nutrients are sorely lacking." The older woman nodded her head towards the sandwich.

Dutifully, Shepard took a small bite before setting it down. "I feel worse this time."

Chakwas set her datapad down. "Well, you've been through a great ordeal."

Shepard lowered her brows at the doctor. "Don't do that. Don't make this about me. It's not. I just destroyed an entire system. And yeah, I did it for the right reasons – the Reapers were coming, and they would've hit Earth first without giving us time to prepare – but I'm not the person here who deserves sympathy. There was a call to be made, and I did. Which is exactly what I put into my report." Fatigue pulled at her body, so she flopped over and curled onto her side.

"They'll understand, Commander," Chakwas reassured her.

"Really? I wouldn't. I'd be fucking livid." And she wasn't just talking about the batarians, or even the Alliance. She was talking about the galactic community in general. In a single attack, she'd decimated an entire colony. Just weeks ago, she'd been hunting the Collectors for doing the same damned thing. What did that make her?

Joker's voice echoed over the comm. "Hey, Commander? Hackett's ship just came alongside. He'll be aboard momentarily. Where should I send him?"

It was too soon, and she wasn't ready to deal with the political fallout of her choice, but she said, "Just send him to the medbay. Have Chambers escort him if he needs it."

She stayed where she was, but sat up once again, her feet dangling. Hackett entered, but Chakwas scurried over to talk to him in private. From where she was sitting, Shepard couldn't hear a damn word they were saying, but knowing Chakwas, she was probably telling the Admiral to take it easy on her one patient. Having presumably succeeded in this, she left the two of them alone.

Hackett kept his hands clasped behind his back as he marched over, brows knitted together. "You want to tell me what went on down there?"

"How much do you know?" asked Shepard.

"The batarians are claiming that you destroyed an entire system," said Hackett, managing to be both uncomfortable and stern at the same time. How did he do that? "I want to know what really happened."

So she told him, right from the beginning, starting with her infiltration into the batarian prison. How she wasn't seen, circumnavigating the patrols and using some clever hacking techniques to bypass all major routes. How she saved Kenson, who turned out to be indoctrinated, only to hold off wave after wave of similarly indoctrinated guards and engineers, and eventually be mind fucked by the Reaper object. How she had to run all over that goddamned base to get the project going again. How Kenson blew up. How she woke up with hours to spare, and made the only choice she could.

Hackett mulled over this information, hand to chin. "This is going to be a political shitstorm when the batarians get a hold of this. You do realize this, don't you?"

She couldn't do much more than nod. No wait, that wasn't true. Hopping off the bed, she stood up as tall as she could and wrapped herself with certainty. "I had to do it, Hackett. The Reapers would've reached Earth in days otherwise, and we're not ready."

The idea that she might not have woken in time chilled her even more than the revelation that she destroyed so many lives. The Battle of the Citadel looped through her mind, and that had only been _one_ Reaper. From Harbinger's running – and stupidly annoying – commentary through her interactions with the Collectors, and if you could accurately judge a Reaper's power by the level of ego they possessed, Earth would have been hooped had she not done so. And she sincerely doubted the Reapers would stop there. Trillions would have died without the opportunity to defend themselves. She would have felt fucking worse then, wouldn't she?

Still, those lives lost to the relay, they were really heavy. She was going to get a stooped back soon, from all the deaths and responsibilities she lugged around with her.

To her surprise and everlasting gratitude, Hackett nods. "I know that. Hell, if it were up to me, I'd pin a damn medal to your chest. That doesn't change things, though. They're going to want blood."

Shepard weighed all her options then. One was to continue as she was, travelling the galaxy with her stolen ship, but no matter how good her crew, in the end they would be one ship against a Reaper invasion. Not only that, but joyriding around in a ship stamped with the Cerberus brand wasn't the best way to prove you weren't a terrorist. So that was out. She could go to the Council, tell them what she told Hackett and if they believed her – fat fucking chance – she could rally Citadel forces and council races together. Of course, the Council had explicitly told her _not_ to make trouble in the Terminus systems, and fiddling with a relay in general was grounds for severe punishment even when they _weren't _used to kill thousands. Really, her only option was to rejoin the Alliance and hope that Hackett and Anderson could convince people to take the threat seriously.

She said, "Then I'll turn myself in."

If she had expected shock or surprise or anything similar, she would've been disappointed. Hackett smiled like he'd been waiting for her to say that. "Good to see you've kept your honour, despite everything."

"You could argue that I never really had any," said Shepard, with a shrug.

Hackett claps a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head. "No. You couldn't."

**o-o-o**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00547H (Continued)**

TRIBUNAL: We were under the impression that you and Commander Shepard had a great professional accord.

HACKETT: We do.

_[He drops his leg and leans forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped together.]_

HACKETT: I could argue that the reason I have such utter faith in Shepard is because we're function the same way. When a problem presents itself, I send her in to deal with it knowing that she will do exactly what I would do in her place.

TRIBUNAL: Are you saying that you would've done the same as the Commander on her mission?

_[Hackett is quiet a long while. He nods once to himself.]_

HACKETT: If I'd been confronted with the threat of an imminent invasion, yeah, I would.

TRIBUNAL: But there is absolutely no evidence to suggest that -

HACKETT: Have you asked Shepard?

TRIBUNAL: We would be happy to listen to anything the Commander has to tell us.

HACKETT: Let's be honest here – would you? Or have you already made your decision?

_[He doesn't wait for their answer, but pushes himself to his feet. He adjusts his hat, nodding to the tribunal.]_

HACKETT: I think we're done. I have fleets to mobilize.

_[Hackett strides from the room without a glance backwards.]_

* * *

**Next Chapter: **James discovers a dark secret of Shepard's.


	11. The Child's Cry

**A/N: **Thank you so, so much to everyone who read and reviewed! We're officially winding down _Skin and Bone_ – two chapters left! But not to worry, because I'm already hard at work with the sequel which will take place during ME3. Please enjoy this chapter and drop a message if you like, telling me what you think. :)

* * *

_**Chapter Ten: The Child's Cry**_

Shepard's like one of those Russian dolls where every time you open one, there's another smaller one inside. James cannot figure her out. The woman is a goddamned mystery. First, she's all, _let's stay professional_ – something she hasn't moved from too much, except that now she's acting like they're old mates and let's face it, they're not. Hell, _she's_ the one who never used to say much and now _he's_ catatonic – her words, not his – when he clams up for a bit? If he weren't so damn intrigued, he'd be ready to smash somebody's teeth in.

The question is, which one is the real Shepard? Fuck if he knows. He just brings her meals. That's it.

_Yeah_, he thinks. _You just keep telling yourself that, amigo._

That vid was hands down the worst thing he's ever seen, and he saw an entire colony get raped by the Collectors. He was sure that whatever little crush he had on the Commander would be gone after seeing that – and even now, it's still lurking in the back of his mind, waiting to pounce. But then she came out in the bitty robe (okay, not that tiny, but his mind kept cropping it shorter and shorter every time he thought of it) and, well, fuck. She just breezed past him like he wasn't even there, and even though it's not like James hasn't worked with female marines and done the whole co-ed thing, somehow, this was different. He was definitely attracted, damnit.

But really, it was seeing her tinkering on that omni-blade electric fork thing that impressed the hell out of him. Sure, they'd told him she was a techie, but he hadn't really believed them. Then, hell, she had a conversation with him like they were both human beings and it was friendly and way too nice. It's a fucking pain, knowing that she could be that open if she wanted to, but that she won't let herself. He's sure he's never going to get to see that openess again. She was just thrown because of that business with her mom. That, more than the robe thing (which was, to be fair, some pretty substantial proof), made him decide that whoever was in that vid, it wasn't Shepard – not really.

Damn, but if he can't still feel her hand on his arm. Why do things got to be so messy?

He's collecting her mail when he notices a group of people huddled around a vid screen. Lumbering over, he opens his mouth to ask what he's missing, but notices that the tribunal in charge of Shepard's trial is up there. Their faces are grim, and each sits with his or her hands clamped tight in front.

"It is the ruling of this tribunal that Commander Kayleigh Shepard is guilty of crimes against the batarian hegemony. For the interim, Kayleigh Shepard is to be stripped of her rank and confined to house arrest pending further examination of the case and discussion with the hegemony."

Someone shouts, "This is bullshit!" and when everyone turns to him, James realizes it was his voice.

Higgins says, "Can they do this to her? I mean, she's a hero."

Some Private says, "You think? Because in my books, destroying a whole colony does not a hero make – even if they were just batarians."

There are so many things wrong with that statement that James doesn't even know where to begin, so he jumps straight into anger. He's not thinking of Commander Shepard from the vids anymore, he's thinking of the woman who, a few nights ago, shared with him a real fear. He's thinking of the woman who joked with Anderson. Fuck, he's thinking of the woman who came out of the shower shamelessly and then bullied him into talking.

This is an anger he knows well. He used this anger to club in the faces of those batarians on Omega, so unless he wants to join Shepard down the shitter, he better remove himself from people. He does, upset that he has to deprive his fist the joy of breaking that Private's nose.

At Shepard's door, he jams a fist into the interface and marches in. She's standing in the middle of the room, hands behind her neck, staring at nothing. There's no indication that she's seen him at all, so he drops the datapads on the table to get her attention. One of her eyebrows raises, but otherwise nothing changes.

"Have you heard?" he asks.

"Yep," she says.

James waits for – well, anything. Several beats pass, and he says, "Well?"

She shrugs, the movement barely perceptible.

He can't stand it. He slams his hands down on the table, and feels some dark satisfaction at Shepard's unconcealed surprise because at least that's an emotion and not some robotic front. _Now who's catatonic _he wants to ask, but holds back. He's scratched her surface, and he can see that she's not as unfeeling as she looks. Emotions, he can deal with, one way or another. They're why he beat on all those batarians back on Omega and they're why he enjoys the sound of blood pumping behind his ears now.

"Aren't you angry?" he demands. "They just stripped you of your goddamned rank! They just announced to everyone that you're a fucking war criminal, when you only did what you had to!" He doesn't know when he started gasping for breaths, but he's doing it now and if he were into that psychoanalysis shit, he might think that he's not really talking about her at all, but no, damnit, he _is_.

The surprise slowly ebbs off Shepard's face. She's barely breathing from what he can tell, but she maintains that one cocked eyebrow. She seems to be considering him carefully. "First of all," she says, voice so low he can barely hear it, with an edge that makes him think, _this, this is Commander Shepard_, "my rank doesn't make me who I am. Is it a large part? Yeah, I guess it is, but unlike everyone else in this fucking galaxy, I don't think of myself only as _Commander Shepard_. I existed before I joined the Alliance – maybe not well, but that's not really the point – and seeing as how I haven't snuffed into oblivion right here, I think we can both conclude that I'm capable of existing without it now."

James tries to come up with something to say, something real smart, but all he can do is growl in annoyance. It isn't directed toward her, though, because like it or not, she has a point. No, this is all for him, and it must be written all over him because she takes a few steps forward and puts a hand on his arm for the second time, and he swears she can probably feel his heart thudding just from that touch.

"Are you sure this is really about me?" she asks.

So she really must be a psychic, because that hits a little too close to home. He pulls himself away and goes to stand at the small window that overlooks the courtyard, arms folded in front of him. He doesn't answer, can't answer, but says, "Don't you worry they're going to use this as a chance to wipe away your warnings?"

She moves up next to him and snorts. "What, about the Reapers?" Here she puts air quotes around the name. "Haven't you already heard? They've dismissed that claim. Hard to discredit an idea nobody believes." Shepard sucks in a huge breath. "But, well, Anderson's on my side, and Hackett, so they'll do what they can."

"Me too, ma'am," he says, and at her puzzled glance, "I'm on your side."

Her face softens and it's like she's this whole other person that nobody ever gets to see, and James decides she's right – she is something more than Commander Shepard. These sentimental thoughts are not usual, and he has to push away the urge to touch her, because nothing good lies down that path. Huh, looks like some of her wariness is rubbing off on him.

She shoos him away. "Go on, get out of here. Tonight's your night off, right? Go have some fun – for both of us."

If he could, James would totally take Shepard down to this seedy little bar he loves. He'd buy her all the shots she wanted, maybe challenge her to a game of pool, maybe see if she can dance as well as she can fight. But that's not possible, and they both know it. That's why there's that ring of nostalgia about her.

"I – Yeah, okay," he says, and then he salutes. Just because she's not _officially_ Commander Shepard doesn't mean she's still not the biggest damn hero he's ever met. He makes it to the hall before he hears her jog after him, and can't decide if he's going to help her or not should this be an escape attempt.

But it's not, because she stands just inside the door. "Lieutenant," Shepard says, frowning. "Just for the record – I'm fucking pissed."

She closes the door then, and James decides that if ever someone asks him exactly when it was he started to fall for Shepard, it would be this moment, staring at that door.

**o-o-o**

His _abuela_ once said that one of James' greatest failings was that he just didn't _learn_. He'd stick stubbornly to the same tactic until someone poked a hole in it. Even as a soldier, he kept up the practice – just not on the field. In battle, he could adapt, he could change. It was everywhere else that remained the same. Picking up girls? Check. Making friends? Check. Beating up random bar patrons because they insult Shepard? Double check.

That's how he ended up with a black eye, a split lip and a throbbing nose. In the mirror, he's pretty much the same as always, with the addition of a few ego points at the expense of whatever beauty he ever head. He can live with that.

The night before, he'd been sure he could hold back, that he could have fun like Shepard asked him to. It had degenerated quickly when a few political types drunk on too many Bellinis – something James was convinced was Italian for _vagina_, but whatever – started slandering Shepard. And not just her actions or lack of them, but _her_. James wasn't about to win any awards for the most PC person of all time, but hell if he was going to sit by and let them throw around words like _whore _and _cunt_ when they were connected to Shepard.

However bad he looks now, he's sure those cocksuckers look ten times worse. He hopes they have to explain to their bigwig bosses exactly what went down.

He enters Anderson's office and salutes, standing to attention. Anderson takes in his Lieutenant's appearance, an eyebrow raised. "Do I even want to know?" he asks.

The Admiral hadn't been displeased, exactly, when he found James kicking the shit out of the batarians, but he hadn't really been happy either. Knowing that James did the exact same thing once again, only on their home turf this time, well, James keeps his mouth shut on the matter. He just shrugs his shoulders and says, "Probably not."

Anderson waves it away. He holds up one datapad, which James takes. "Bring that to Shepard, would you? And keep it quiet."

"More mail?" says James. "Jesus, she gets more than I do."

"You're not an infamous celebrity," says Anderson with dark humour.

And since James can't argue with that, so he salutes and leaves.

Shepard's on her stomach on the bed, knees bent and kicking at the air, reading a book. A smile touches her face as she turns towards him, then promptly falls off. He doesn't look _that_ bad does he?

"What the hell happened to you, LT?" she says, sitting up and tucking her legs underneath her in one smooth motion. "I told you to have fun, not bash your face into it."

James shrugs. "I'm an all-in sort of guy."

"Clearly," says Shepard dryly.

"Got this for you," he says, tossing her the datapad. "Anderson made me bring it special – very hush hush."

"Maybe it's an escape plan." Shepard's hands flew over the keys, and James saw the message pop up. She scanned the contents, her brows getting lower and lower on her face. Finally, she sighed. "Did you read this?"

He's almost annoyed, before he realizes that it wouldn't exactly be the first time he went snooping where he didn't belong. He holds his hands wide. "I'm innocent."

Somehow, this doesn't comfort her. She drags herself from the bed, tossing the datapad on her pillow and marches across the room. Seeing as how it ends about five meters after it starts, she doesn't have far to go unless she decides to walk the extra two steps into her bathroom. She turns on her heel and marches back to the bed, practically thrumming with energy. "Fuck," she whispers.

"Problem?" he asks.

Shepard recalls he's in the room with her. She shrugs. "I – uh – well, no, not by the usual definition." She sits back down on the bed, but that lasts all of two seconds before she's up again.

James hesitates. "This about your mom?"

What about his statement earns him that befuddled glance, he doesn't know. Shepard's lips twitch, and she chuckles slowly to herself, running the back of her hand over her forehead. He can't help but notice that her hair has grown about an inch since they shaved it, small strands stuck to her forehead.

"I'm not meeting my mom," she says.

"Then I – what? I don't get it," says James, crossing his arms. Had he imagined the whole conversation? No, he hadn't. She'd been all sorts of upset.

"It's uh, well," says Shepard, and this is the first time James has ever seen her embarrassed, eyes downcast. She musters her inner strength and says, "It's my daughter," as if daring him to say something.

But what the hell is he supposed to say to that? That she was a mom was curiously absent from only all the fucking vids and records ever. And even owing for stress and resurrection and shit, she can't be that much older than him. Few years, at the most. If she's a mom, she certainly fits the MILF label to a T – but she must've popped that kid out young, real young.

"Oh," he says. Lieutenant Vega, ladies and gentlemen. Shit.

She's way too entertained by his fumbles, but at least she tries to hide it. "She got in contact with the Alliance. All she had was my first name – God knows how she even got that much – and she wanted to find her birth mother. I guess – I guess I'm it."

"Wow," says James. "That's – heavy."

"Tell me about it," agrees Shepard. She folds her hands on top of her head. "Anderson is arranging a meeting soon." Her whole body sags and she has the biggest _oh shit_ expression on her face he's ever seen. "Damn, I don't mean to lay all of this on you, Lieutenant. You're my keeper, not my damned therapist." And would you look at that, he's got Shepard embarrassed for the second time in _minutes_. Got to be some sort of record.

"No worries," he says, waving it away. "Expect you don't have many people to talk to, no?"

"Not here, no," she replies. "Still. Professionalism."

"Well, this could be an upside to being a civilian now? You can act however the fuck you want without people getting mad?"

Shepard let out a bark of laughter. "You've got funny ideas about civilian life, Lieutenant."

"Or," he continues on as if he hasn't heard her, trying to act all casual and shit despite the fact that he's sure he's sweating right through his shirt, "you could call me James." It's a risk and he knows it, but hearing Shepard laugh in the face of well, some pretty personal shit, he's prepared for a little risk.

The statement sobers her. "I'll think about it," she says, which is about a million times better than he was expecting.

He's going to leave, really, only now that those barriers are finally coming down, he can't help but ask, "So, there some Mr. Shepard I should know about?"

Shepard snorts. "No way. Can you imagine being married to me? It would be terrible."

James isn't too sure about that one. Half the marines he knows would give both balls to call themselves Mr. Shepard. "I dunno. Could be okay with the right guy."

"What, you volunteering? We gonna elope? You'll reform me from my life of crime?" jokes Shepard, arms crossed.

"I, uh," stumbles James, because really, that was _not_ what he had in mind. Getting hitched? Him? Even to someone like Shepard, that seems a little far fetched. Okay, Vega, let's get real – _especially_ to someone like Shepard.

"Uh huh," says Shepard. "Get out of here." She points a finger out the door, but she's all lit up like the fourth of July, so he's done something right.

He grins at her, saluting. "Aye aye, ma'am."

Goddamn, though, if that Mr. Shepard doesn't resemble himself the longer he thinks about it.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **Anderson shares something even the tribunal can't ignore.


	12. Out of the Ash

_I want to apologize for the tardiness of this chapter. My computer developped an unexpected hardware problem that I thought would be quick and simple to fix - and it would've, if the part had been readily available. In any case, here it is: the second to last chapter. I've been working a little on the sequel in the meantime, but let me just say a big thank you to everyone who's been reading thus far.  
_

* * *

_**Chapter Eleven: Out of the Ash [Case Report: Admiral David Anderson]**_

**Trial of Commander Kayleigh Shepard**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00485P**

_[Admiral David Anderson, 49, is clearly impatient with the proceedings, hands on his knees. He's in his dress blues, and looks every bit the part of distinguished military hero except for the barely concealed contempt with which he regards this tribunal.]_

TRIBUNAL: You're very close with Shepard, aren't you Admiral?

ANDERSON: We've worked together a long time, yes. We won't be braiding each other's hair any time soon, though.

TRIBUNAL: Prior to the Battle of the Citadel, you assaulted Ambassador Donnell Udina to allow her ship to escape.

ANDERSON: Was there supposed to be a question in there?

TRIBUNAL: That's quite a risk for you to take. What made you so sure that Shepard was right?

ANDERSON: Let me tell you a thing that most people don't realize about Shepard right off – she's rough around the edges, yeah. She can be rude, stubborn, and impatient. But she's also one of the best damned marines I've ever met and you know why? Because on top of all those things, she _cares_. I could see it the first time I met her.

**o-o-o**

Anton looked like shit, his leg going a nasty black colour. The stocks of medigel had already been used up, and Shepard had done as best she could, using her bandages to form a tourniquet, but the fucking planet they were on was so moist and full of bacteria that for every first aid step she took, the environment sent her back three. She dipped a piece of cloth into the stream and put it on his head, causing him to open his eyes. They were fuzzy with pain and infection.

So far, her omni-tool hadn't beeped at all, despite the distress beacon it was emitting. Anton wouldn't last much longer without medical help, but she couldn't risk a more powerful beacon this far into batarian space. If the merc band on this stupid rock caught up with them, well, infection would be the least of their worries.

"Leigh," murmured Anton, his hand groping for hers. She took it and held tight. "If I die, you get the hell out of here."

"Nobody is dying," snapped Shepard. She brushed some of his hair out of his face. Before all this, he'd been an attractive guy. Skin the colour of hot chocolate, but these grey eyes that just stood out in his face. He never failed to attract the ladies on shore leave, but he and Shepard had always had a semi-friendly rivalry.

He read her mind. "Looks like you win."

"Shut up," she said.

"We get out of here, I'm going to treat you to a good dinner," slurred Anton, eyelids fluttering.

Shepard squeezed his hand. "You asking me on a date, Clarke?"

"No," said Anton quietly. He loosed his hand from hers and brought it up to her cheek. "Maybe – maybe I'm asking you to marry me. Any woman that can shoot a gun like that _and_ cook alien frogs into something edible, well, she's a keeper, right?"

"Christ, stop talking. You're going to give me a toothache." But she didn't move his hand away. Lost in the jungle, she could imagine a different life for herself – a family, maybe, to make up for the one she never got to have.

Anton chucked thickly. "I love you too, sweetheart." His head lolled to the side in a way that wasn't comforting.

Bending over him, she used her omni-tool to check his vitals. They were weak and falling quickly. She slapped his face lightly. "Hey, Anton, don't you fall asleep on me. You haven't yet told me all the dirty things you're going to do to me on our wedding night." There was no reply. She propped open his mouth and poured some water in, covering it so that he was forced to swallow. She was no field medic – this was all way beyond her. If she'd wanted to deal with treating people, she would've become a doctor.

She hadn't come all this way to lose another fucking crew member, damnit.

Her tool beeped, and she hit it quickly, patching into the provided Alliance comm channel. "Hello? This is Lieutenant Kayleigh Shepard. I've got a man down. Requesting an extraction."

"Lieutenant, this is the SSV _Gettysburg_. Can you give us your precise coordinates?"

Shepard took in their camp. They were surrounded by foliage – no way any ship was going to set down here. "We're in a wooded area," said Shepard, adding in the coordinates. "There's a glen about a klick away. I think we can make it there – do you have a short range shuttle to meet us?"

"Affirmative. ETA Ten minutes."

Ten minutes sounded impossibly optimistic to Shepard, but she flicked off her omni-tool. Anton had since given into unconsciousness, so she'd have to carry him. That meant she was going to have to leave most of her equipment behind. She left her rifle where it was, knowing there was no way to carry a mantis and Anton without breaking all her bones, and settled for clipping a pistol to the belt of her fatigues. The food rations could stay, as could their survival gear, and there was no way she was going to be able to carry him all that way in armour either, so goodbye custom set. She quickly rifled through Anton's sack, pulling out a few photos of his family and stuffing them into her pocket.

"Okay, buddy," she said, not sure if she was talking to herself or to Anton, "we can do this."

He had a good sixty pounds on her at least, but lucky for him she'd not only been trained in carrying huge loads, but doing so on gravity heavy planets. She slung him over her shoulders and proceeded out of camp, trying not to gag as what she could only think of as _juice_ flowed down her arm from Anton's wound. All she had to do was take it one step at a time. It wasn't like the _Gettysburg_ was going to leave without her, right?

Her fatigues were soaked through with her sweat and her muscles strained to the point of pain by the time she reached the shuttle. Really, she should stop getting herself into dumb ass situations where she needed an evac, but, well, nobody's perfect. The door to the shuttle opened, and two marines came to take Anton from her. Another came and slung her arm around his shoulder, dragging her to her seat.

The Captain was waiting when the shuttle docked in the cargo bay. His eyes raked over Anton as he was carried out of the shuttle on a stretcher, before coming to rest on Shepard herself, who couldn't muster the energy to even stand, never mind salute.

"I'm Captain David Anderson," he said, and to his credit, he didn't offer her a hand or ask her to move out of the shuttle, not even as the pilot filtered past her. "You did good, kid. We picked up the rest of your team a few days back, just the other side of the moon."

"They made it?" asked Shepard.

"Every single one. Good soldiers. Said they owed a lot of it to you – that you provided a distraction that allowed them to escape when things went south. That true?"

"If by _distraction_ you mean _sniper shot through the eyes_, then yeah, I was the distraction," agreed Shepard.

"Hell of a thing," commented Anderson, and now he did offer her a hand. She accepted, and he hauled her to her feet, snaking his arm under her pits without complaining about the smell, despite the fact that she knew she smelled like a hot sewer. "This was your N6 mission?" When Shepard nodded, he chuckled. "Got a feeling you've more than earned your rank, Lieutenant. Maybe more."

That was too much raw data for her to deal with, so she asked, "Is Anton going to be okay?"

"We'll do everything we can for him," said Anderson.

"Oh," said Shepard, "good."

She couldn't remember anything after that.

**o-o-o**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00485P (Continued)**

TRIBUNAL: You were the one that nominated Shepard for the Spectre position?

ANDERSON: Actually, Councillor Udina came up with her name first.

_[Anderson chuckles softly to himself.]_

ANDERSON: A decision he found himself regretting on more than one occasion.

TRIBUNAL: And following her nomination, you were her acting CO aboard the _Normandy_, correct?

_[He inclines his head.]_

**o-o-o**

Something was up. Shepard wasn't sure what it was, but she was pretty sure it had to do with that turian, Nihlus. Okay, the _Normandy_ wasn't exactly a huge ship – it was a frigate, what did people expect? - but there had to be some reason every time she turned around, there he was, staring at her with those beady green eyes. He didn't even try to look away when she caught him looking, either, only inclined his head and flared those mandibles of him. Whether it was a smile or not, Shepard couldn't say, but it was damned annoying.

Anderson had introduced him as _Nihlus Kryik, Council representative and Spectre_, whatever the hell that meant. But she'd come a long way since that twerp on Earth, so she held out her hand in greeting. Nihlus shook it, his two fingered hand sitting awkwardly in hers and those green eyes boring down into her. He said, "I look forward to seeing what you – and the crew – can do, Commander."

Apparently, he took that statement a lot more seriously than Shepard could have anticipated. She couldn't duck inside the lavatory without Nihlus seeing it. After a few hours, she politely knocked on Anderson's door and was allowed admittance.

"Sir," she said, with a salute that Anderson waved away, "what's the deal with this Spectre?"

Her CO's face went perfectly blank, and that was when she knew for sure that he was keeping things from her. "Don't worry about Nihlus," he assured her. "I doubt he's spent much time around humans. Ignore him. Just do your job like always."

"Considering he's always about two feet away, my _job_ is getting a little crowded," groused Shepard. She wouldn't be surprised if he was waiting outside with an ear – or whatever turians had instead – to the door.

Anderson chuckled. "Just bear with it for the next while. We'll hit the relay soon on our path to Eden Prime. Once we hit groundside, there should be plenty enough space for the both of you."

She wanted to say that there _would_ be enough space on the Normandy if only a certain someone would back off a bit, but she bit her tongue and took her leave. She retrieved her rifle from her locker and hopped on the elevator down to the workbench. In smooth, practised motions, she disassembled it, cleaning it even though it really didn't need it. It was a habit she'd picked up during the N-school. Could never be too careful, and a jammed gun meant you were probably dead. Since Shepard was happy being _not_ dead, she cleaned the gun with alarming frequency.

The elevator went up and came back down, the door lowering with a mechanical whir. She didn't have to look over to know who it was; no human on board had footsteps quite like that. They were quieter than she expected, for something so heavy-looking as a turian. She glanced at him over her shoulder, and like always, he didn't try to hide that he was watching her. _Job as normal, Shepard_, she told herself.

That was before he leaned up against the crew lockers like he was cool shit. Shepard dropped her components on the workbench and set a hand on her hip. "Do I have something on my face?" she asked.

Nihlus was clearly expecting some sort of statement. "No," he said.

"Is it some sort of turian faux-pas _not_ to have something on my face?"

He paused, then said, "Among turians, yes. But not among other species."

"Okay, look," said Shepard honestly, "you've been following me around like a little puppy for hours. If I didn't know better, I'd say you're some hormonal teenager with a crush."

His mandibles were all twitchy now and she didn't know if that was a good sign or not. He did his best impersonation of a frown. "Either my translator is broken, or you just used far too many human-centric words for it to work properly," he said.

"Do you have a thing for humans? Are you trying to ask me out on a date or something?" Shepard sighed, running her hands over her arms. "I'm trying my best not to cause an inter-species incident here, but the way you've been following me? It's really fucking weird."

Nihlus blinked at her. He let out a low rumble that was either a chuckle or a growl, and Shepard sure as hell couldn't tell which. "I'm sorry if I caused you uneasiness," he said, and he sounded sincere. "But you can rest assured that I'm not," here he cleared his throat, "trying to ask you on a date."

"Okay, good," said Shepard, and then realizing how that could be interpreted added, "I'm sure you're really attractive for a turian, but I don't even get into relationships with my own species, so." And because the whole damned situation was just too surreal, she turned back to her gun.

"Why not?" he asked, and there was more than personal curiosity in his voice.

"I'm a marine," she said, simply, "and I'm now the Executive Officer on this ship. Being a soldier's all I really know how to do. I'm not going to fuck that up by letting emotions get in the way."

Nihlus _hmm_ed, tapping one finger to his chin. With a nod, he stalked off, leaving Shepard to her gun, thank god. She was just finishing when Joker came over the comm, "Commander, we'll be hitting the relay in five minutes."

She snapped the last piece of it together and marched towards the elevator, ready for whatever the galaxy could throw her way.

**o-o-o**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00485P (Continued)**

TRIBUNAL: So you were there when Shepard first began to have these delusions about a sentient synthetic race called "The Reapers"?

_[Whatever jovial expression Anderson had been wearing disappears. He scoots forward in his chair, then stands. He addresses not only this tribunal, but everyone present.]_

ANDERSON: Shepard's gotten a lot of flack from bureaucrats like you lot, and for the most part, she's handled herself well despite that adversity. But there's something you should know – the Reapers are real, and they're coming.

TRIBUNAL: Admiral, with all respect -

_[Anderson isn't listening. His omni-tool flashes to life, and he takes control of the screens behind him. Static echoes through the room for a moment before the images come to life.]_

**o-o-o**

**FWD:**

**Vid File – ****Cltrbase0012185. avi**

_[The camera is mounted at chest level. It shows a strange sort of ship, all brown with pods lining the walls. The camera jangles at its owner sprints forward. From above descend horrific, bug like creatures – Collectors. A gun is loaded with a thermal clip in front of the camera, but everything becomes confused as spatters of gunfire erupt from both sides. The soldier peeks out from behind cover, allowing a clear shot of the territory._

_One Collector floats up, suffused in bright light. It turns to the camera-laden soldier.]_

COLLECTOR:Resistance is futile, Shepard.

SHEPARD: Yeah, well, fuck you too, buddy.

_[The camera is attached to Commander Shepard. She battles her way through the Collector horde, coming to a large door. It opens, and she and her team – a drell and a quarian – dash inside. They spray covering fire until the door is closed by a geth. Inside, a ragtag team of mercenaries and soldiers is assembled. Everyone looks to the pods, which are filled with human bodies._

_One of these bodies, a woman, awakens inside her pod, screaming. Her fists beat against the transparent material that holds her inside.]_

SHEPARD: Oh god, they're still alive. Get them the hell out of there!

_[Shepard beats her rifle against the pod, and when that fails, her hands go to the edges to look for a seam. She finds one, and the pod makes a suction sound as it opens, the occupant falling into the Commander's arms, obscuring the camera. She's lowered to the ground, the Commander squatting in front of her as evidenced by the knees in the frame.]_

WOMAN: Commander – you came for us.

SHEPARD: No one gets left behind. Doctor, do you know what they're doing here?

WOMAN: Melting us down. Moving it through those tubes.

SHEPARD: Do you know why?

_[The woman shakes her head, and Shepard looks up at the tubes. They're attached to the ceiling and snake through the complex.]_

**Vid File – ****Cltrbase0072185. avi**

_[The strange platform moves forward through the rooms until it comes face to face with a giant, metal skeleton hanging from the ceiling. The tubes from before are feeding into it. Shepard had a brief conversation with colleague determining the nature of the thing; it's decided it's a proto-Reaper, using humans as fodder for growth. Shepard shoots the supports holding the thing up, and it plummets down._

_She radios her crew, telling them that she's going to arm an explosive and to be ready to escape. As she does so, a holographic call from the Illusive Man is put through. He details a way to destroy the base but leave the technology intact. Though her face cannot be seen, there's no denying the anger in her voice.]_

SHEPARD: They stole colonists – liquefied them! Turned them into something horrible! We have to destroy the base!

THE ILLUSIVE MAN: Don't be so sure. Our best chance against the Reapers is to turn their own resources against them.

SHEPARD: Really? Because that's what this other person tried to convince me, wait, who was that? Oh yeah – Saren.

THE ILLUSIVE MAN: Saren was dealing with a live Reaper, Shepard. We're talking about one that hasn't been functional yet!

SHEPARD: Even a dead Reaper can indoctrinate people and turn them into husks. It's too big a liability. It's too high a price.

THE ILLUSIVE MAN: Shepard -

_[The holoimage disappears. One of Shepard's companions, the dark haired woman from earlier footage, looks nauseous. She opens her mouth to speak, but a loud, booming sound comes from beneath them. One giant metal hand grips the platform on which they stand. Shepard dives into cover, but not quickly enough that the camera misses the moving metal face...]_

**o-o-o**

**Vid Log Evidence #0.00485P (Continued)**

_[As the vid draws to a close, the entire room is silent. Anderson takes no joy in proving Shepard right. Grim lines mar his face.] _

ANDERSON: You were saying?

TRIBUNAL: Jesus... That can't be real.

ANDERSON: I've already had it checked over by the best techs and information specialists in the Alliance. It's legit. I can forward you the reports, if you want.

TRIBUNAL: Where did you get this footage?

ANDERSON: Where do you think? Shepard gave it to me.

TRIBUNAL: To prove her innocence?

_[Anderson slams his hands down on the rail that separates him from the rest of the room.]_

ANDERSON: Shepard doesn't give a damn whether you find her guilty or not. Why do you think she turned herself in? She wants to make sure we're all ready for when these things come for us.

TRIBUNAL: We – we'll have to discuss this further.

ANDERSON: Talk fast.

* * *

**Next Chapter: **Shepard's a bundle of nerves over her reunion.


	13. Into the Red

_**Chapter Twelve: Into the Red **_

Shepard can't help her hands from fiddling with the hem of her dress. She feels like a fake in this dress; it's blue with tiny white flowers and a little woven belt that needs to be tied in a bow under her best. Whoever designed it meant for some tiny housewife and not a well-trained marine, and she's sure she looks like a hulking gorilla in it. It's utterly opposed to everything else in her wardrobe, and not just because it doesn't have an Alliance logo anywhere on it. This is the sort of dress a homemaker would wear, the sort of dress a mom would wear... Which is exactly why she chose it.

Damnit.

Who's she kidding? Like putting a dress on will suddenly make her an okay mother figure. Poor kid doesn't know what she's getting herself into. Surprise! Your birth mom is a discharged former hero who's also responsible for one of the largest genocides in recent history.

The door hisses open behind herself, and she spins, her hands wrapping around herself. This whole plan was completely stupid.

"Commander, you -" says the Lieutenant and stops short seeing her in her dress, face laid wide open with some emotion she can't pinpoint. He blinks.

"It's too much, isn't it?" she asks, running an angry hand over her super short hair – another thing that ruined the whole _mom_ vibe she was going for. "Fuck, I knew it would be. I should change."

"No," says the Lieutenant, and his voice is soft. He looks her up and down, this tiny, secretive smile playing on his lips. "You look – well, it's good."

Her eyes narrow. "Thank you for that standing ovation, LT."

He holds up his hands in surrender. "I was just trying to pay you a compliment. You look _real_ good, Commander." His eyes come to rest not on her chest or legs, but on her waist. She doesn't mind, and that makes her feel uncomfortable. It's only because she hasn't had a man look at her like that in a while, she tells herself. Not since, well, maybe Kaidan a few times. It's... nice.

And it shouldn't be. She's a marine, for god's sake, not some primpy socialite. She doesn't need James – people to look at her with approval.

Shepard wants to ask for confirmation one more time, but she won't because _fuck that,_ she doesn't need validation from other people, and if she does, she certainly doesn't want anyone else to know about it. She takes a deep breath. "Okay. Let's do this, then."

Squaring her shoulders, she walks up to the Lieutenant, ignoring his amused expression. He doesn't take her by the arm like she expects, but puts a hand in the small of her back and leads her from the room. He shuts and locks the door behind her and then they're off, his hand falling away. She wonders if there aren't regs about this sort of thing – although she was never _technically_ found guilty of anything (just in case she was actually right, Anderson told her), she is still a prisoner and a dangerous one at that. Do they just let dangerous prisoners out without cuffs?

Her mind is latching onto anything it can to avoid thinking about what's coming next. She realizes she's picking at her cuticles and forces herself to drop her hands to her sides. When that becomes unbearable, she crosses her arms. From behind her, the Lieutenant chuckles.

"You this twitchy before all your missions, Commander?"

She glares at him, annoyed that he doesn't cower from her anymore. She's Commander fucking Shepard. With an angry puff she says, "No."

"And this is scarier than taking on a Collector base? Than travelling through the Omega-4 relay?"

"Oh hell yeah," mutters Shepard. "By a million lightyears."

He doesn't say much to that because they've come to the cafeteria and oh god, there she is.

Shepard's daughter sits at a table by herself, a lemonade already in front of her. Her hair is thick, like Shepard's, but it's a little lighter, the sun catching strands of gold. It's curled into a braid that drapes over her shoulder. She's got that same lanky frame that Shepard remembers hating when she was a teenager – all straight lines instead of curves, small breasts instead of full. The girl glances around the room, and Shepard's breath hitches to realize that they have the same colour eyes. Jesus, the girl could be her clone, except that her skin is a little paler and there's the faintest spread of freckles across her nose.

At the risk of sounding completely vain, she's the most gorgeous thing Shepard has ever seen.

"Lieutenant," she says, "I've changed my mind. You should take me back to my room. Now." She twirls on her heel to march back the way they came, but the Lieutenant's large arm blocks her path.

"Uh-uh, I don't think so Commander," he says. "You've been waiting for this for weeks. You know how many strings Anderson had to pull to get this approved?" He's frowning, more serious than she's ever seen him. "You march yourself over there and at least say hello. It's not good manners to stand up a lady."

Shepard glances over her shoulder and rubs her chin. "I can't. What if my enemies use her to get to me?" She could see the rebuttal forming on his face and quashed it before it could fully materialize. "And – don't tell me it won't happen, because that's exactly what the Collectors did. I'm a liability. She's better off not-knowing me. I mean, she only knows my first name right now, and maybe she put two-and-two together, but there's no confirmation right? Better she goes back to her normal, safe life."

"Until the Reapers show up," adds the Lieutenant, voice hard. He melts right after, but only a little and says, "This about her, or is it about _you_?"

A knot of fear sinks to the bottom of her stomach. She knows he's right – of course he is – but damnit, she _can't_. She says the only thing she can think of, which is, "Fuck you."

Something like anger slashes across his face. "Listen, I know this isn't my place, but you're _Commander Shepard_. You've taken on missions that would make big strong marines sit in a corner and cry for their mommies. Now, man up -" He falters for a moment on the phrase, but shakes his head and powers on, "and just, go say hello or whatever." One large hand comes to rest on her shoulder. "You can't protect everyone from everything all the time, Shepard. Not even yourself. You gotta just... go for it."

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "I had no idea you were that deep, LT."

"I'm going to pretend like there's no insult to that statement," says the Lieutenant seriously, "and finish by saying that I'm all chock full of layers. Like a cake. A delicious one."

The laugh erupts from her throat without her say-so, and she clamps a hand over her mouth to try and stifle it. The Lieutenant's eyes are bright, and she can't help her smile as she sighs and nods. "Yeah, okay." With a deep breath, she turns herself around and takes a few steps forward. She stops when it's clear that the Lieutenant is going to give her some space. "Hey – James? Thanks."

The way his mouth falls open is totally worth it.

Of course, the thrill lasts all of two seconds and then she's once again a bundle of nervous energy. What the fuck. She's – okay, she _was – _Commander Shepard. Took on Reapers. Took on Collectors. Killed more mercs than she can count on her fingers and toes. Survived a Prothean mind probe. Flying through the Omega-4 relay, she kept her head. Four minutes to go before a potential Reaper invasion? No problem!

She swears her feet feel like they're wearing mag boots – or just a dozen cinder blocks. She picks her way through the tables, fiddling with her hands coming to a stop before the table. She says, "Dahlia?"

Those blue eyes swing upwards. They take her in for a second, before the eyebrows raise straight up to her hairline. Confusion paints itself onto her face. "Commander Shepard?" says Dahlia, and there's more than a tinge of disbelief. She looks behind her to where two men sit waiting – in suits, no less – with equal expressions of confusion and surprise.

"It's not technically _Commander_ anymore," says Shepard, lamely. She clenches her hands together in front of her. "I was going to get Admiral Anderson to tell you straight out who I was but – well, security leaks and the like. He wasn't sure it would be prudent." Shepard laughs, but it's strained and suddenly she's looking at her shoes. "I kind of hoped you wouldn't actually recognize me."

Which is sort of like wishing raindrops into diamonds.

The girl takes a second too long to answer, so Shepard continues, "But if this is too weird, you know, I can just... go. We can pretend this never happened."

"No!" bursts Dahlia, on the edge of her seat. "No, it's okay. Just – do you want to sit down?"

Shepard does so, glancing once to the suited men. "Those your parents?"

A real smile crosses Dahlia's face. "Yeah." She glances over her shoulder at them and gives them a little wave. They wave back, and Shepard can't help but wonder if she's supposed to wave. God, she's never been great at personal relationships, and now she remembers why. Dahlia returns her full attention. "So I guess you're my mom, then?"

"I guess so," says Shepard.

"You're really young. I mean, I saw _Kayleigh Shepard_ on the papers and my dad joked that it could be you, but we never really believed it 'cause... We were expecting someone older." Dahlia tugs on her braid.

"That's... understandable," says Shepard. "I was sixteen when I had you. Not really the best age to be having a kid."

"That why you gave me up?"

Shepard allows herself a small, bitter smile. "Things... didn't go as I'd hoped. My life wasn't great. I couldn't imagine bringing a little person into it, making it work. It wouldn't be fair. You deserved better." She folds her hands on the table. "Was it worth it? You happy?"

Dahlia nods. "I just... I wondered. I'm getting ready to go off to a private school and my parents were looking into medical records. They found your first name, and with a little digging, found out you – well, not _you _because we didn't think it was _you_ – joined the Alliance so I asked them to keep looking." She smiles slightly. "It was kind of weird, finding out you were a soldier. I'm – I don't think I could ever do that. I'm not really the soldier type."

"What do you like instead?"

"Music," says the girl, but bashfully, like she's ashamed.

But Shepard is utterly charmed. She doesn't even need to get the details to know that she for sure made the right call all those years ago. Not only does she know nothing about music, but if she'd kept that baby, well, it was doubtful she'd ever have been able to afford any sort of lessons at all. "What do you play?" she asks.

The conversation lasts like that for quite some time. It doesn't get too deep, even though from the way Dahlia's eyes widen and her hands grip at the table, she's on the cusp of asking about Shepard's military exploits a couple times. Probably, her parents told her not to ask things like that. Good men. Shepard would have had to take a careful revisionist stance on some of it. She's pretty sure they're in the clear when Dahlia drops a bomb – just, not the bomb Shepard was expecting.

"Do you know anything about my biological dad?" asks the girl, chewing on her lip. "The info we got never mentioned anything about him."

"I – no," says Shepard. "I don't know who he was or what happened to him." The lie curls up and festers in her gut, infecting her bloodstream so that her face is too hot. Something she's learned along the way is sometimes a pretty lie is much better than an ugly truth, and this truth? It's one that Shepard has shoved into the back of her mind and plastered over with shiny wallpaper and fancy pictures in frames.

Shepard's done a lot of things in her time – bad, nasty, ugly things. But Dahlia's father, well, he's the one that taught her that life isn't fucking fair. That love and family and all that shit won't win the day. And despite that, years later, Shepard's still waiting to be proven wrong. To know that, in the grand scheme of things, those things _do_ make the difference. She doesn't quite believe it yet. Love didn't save all those batarians, and love certainly didn't save Tybalt.

To Shepard's immense relief, Dahlia takes this at face value. Of course, that relief turns to self-loathing when she realizes Dahlia's only done so because she can think of no reason _not _to trust her birth mom. Shepard needs to turn this around, and quickly. She says, "Can I meet your parents?"

Dahlia waves over the two men. They're the tiniest bit hesitant, but they meander their way over. They're clean, nicely dressed, and Shepard stands to shake both of their hands. Their names are Todd and Sanjit Misra. They're smiling, but she can see what it costs them in the hard planes of their faces. They don't trust her, and she doesn't blame them. If all she had to go on was the news feeds, she wouldn't trust her either.

"We never really expected it to be you," says Todd Misra, one arm draped protectively around Dahlia.

"I didn't really expect the message I got, so I suppose we're even," says Shepard. She's buried her hands between her thighs to hide how tightly they're held together. Now that they're here, she doesn't know what else to say. She's smiling so that her cheeks hurt when a shadow looms over the table.

"Sorry to interrupt, folks," says James. "Just got to talk to the Commander, here." He leans over her chair, his mouth to her ear. His breath tickles her ear. "The Defence Committee wants to see you."

"The what?" whispers Shepard, frowning.

"Defence Committee." James shrugs. "Anderson's got their panties in a bunch. They apparently now believe you about the, uh." His eyes glide over Dahlia and her family, and his mouth thins. They can't hear him, Shepard's sure, but he's being cautious nevertheless and she appreciates it. "The _friends_ we're expecting. Anderson showed them some pretty compelling proof, they're saying. Some sort of video." They stare at each other then, a battle of the wills.

She slips out of the awkward _birth mother_ skin she'd been wearing and into _Commander Shepard_, standing in one fluid motion. Dahlia's clearly bewildered, but she has eyes more for James than for her, staring at him with all the potent awe only a teenager can manage. Just as well. Shepard lays her hands flat on the table and says, "Dahlia, could you excuse your parents and I for a moment?"

The girl jolts, looking to her parents for advice. Todd fishes out a credit chit from his pocket and sets it in her hands. "Go get yourself something to eat, sweetie." Everyone watches her until she's out of hearing.

Shepard leans across the table, voice low. "If you love her, you better start taking precautions now."

"Shepard," says James, and her name is a warning.

She ignores him. "Something's coming. Something big. You want my advice? Don't let her go to that school. Keep her close. You make sure that you have plenty of supplies on hand – food, water, medication – and a way off planet if you can. Try not to do anything public – a private shuttle, maybe, or a ship."

Todd and Sanjit are looking at her like she's started reciting an ancient asari porno or something. "She's been waiting months to get into that school," says Sanjit at last. "You're asking us to take the word of a... You're asking a lot of us."

"I know," admits Shepard, hanging her head. "But this... Did you see the footage during the Battle of the Citadel?"

Todd scratches his chin. "I was there when it happened."

"Picture that, but ten thousand times worse," says Shepard. It's dramatic, the way she's doing this, but she needs these two men to get the picture. Of course, she can't just throw out _the Reapers_ _are coming _because thanks to reports from her crew on the SR2, she knows no information about Sovereign's true identity was ever leaked to the public. Fucking politicians.

"Shepard," cuts in James, "we have to go. Now." He takes her by the arm, like they're back at square one, but she rips it out of his grasp, pulling up her omni-tool.

"This is my private extranet account," she says. "If you need anything, please, just let me know." The tool fizzles out of existence. Shepard allows herself to break from resolute Commander for just a moment. "Tell Dahlia – it was really great to meet her, I guess. That I'm glad she's... I'm glad she's not me."

She pushes herself away from the table and offers her arm to James. He doesn't take it. He raises an arm like he's going to caress her somehow, but she must be really out of it because he just beckons her away. From her place at the snack bar, Dahlia looks up, eyes flying over Shepard like a little bird. Shepard gives her a short wave, then pushes all her weight into her shoulders and strides out of the room, the perfect soldier.

**o-o-o**

"Did you mean it?"

Shepard pulls her arm from off her face and props herself up on the bed. Every bone in her body is exhausted from spending the last few hours talking to the Defence Committee. She's told them everything she knows about Reapers, dissected every little bit of that Prothean beacon still floating in her brain, covered every angle of attack she used on the proto-Reaper on the other side of the Omega-4 relay. Still, they had questions. _How do we stop them? What can we do? What are your suggestions? _

It's a far cry from before, when they were ready to stuff an apple in her mouth and hand her over to the hegemony like a sacrificial pig.

"What are you talking about?" she says with as much patience as she can muster.

James is leaning against the door frame, gaze focused inwards. "What you said about being glad that Dahlia wasn't you?"

She falls back onto her pillows and puts her arm over her face once more. That meeting with Dahlia, it seems years away instead of hours. She wishes she'd gotten the chance to say a proper goodbye, but it's probably better this way. The war that's coming, well, Shepard doesn't have any illusions. She's going to fight like hell, but the Reapers aren't exactly her biggest fans since she destroyed Sovereign and then the Collector Base. From Harbinger's tone, he had it out for her. She's been lucky so far, but that luck, well, it can't last forever.

"I thought we agreed you weren't my shrink. Have you taken up a new day job, James?" she asks, hoping to disarm him.

"No. I – fuck." Shepard peeks long enough to see him running a hand back and forth over his hair. "I just don't get you, Shepard. You've done things that most people... Why aren't you proud? I'd be getting free drinks all the time if I were you."

"I am proud," she says, a knife of anger slicing towards him. She drops her arm heavily to her side, and rolls herself into a seated position. "I've done some damned good work. I've saved a lot of lives. I'm not perfect, no, but hell, who is? That doesn't mean I don't want better for her."

"What could be better than that?" cries James, hands up in the air.

Shepard wants to be young. She wants to have his sort of conviction. He's still rearing to go for the fight, and yeah, she is too, but the problem is she knows exactly what's coming. Those Prothean visions, they're still in there. She can see worlds falling one by one. It's not just about the fight anymore, not just about the adrenaline or the Alliance. It's about survival. She's done what she's done because nobody else would, and she wouldn't change that. But Dahlia...

"I think the problem is that we're not distinguishing properly between _better_ and _important_," says Shepard. "I've had an important life, sure, but I'm sure there are, I don't know, street merchants out there that have had better lives. Dahlia said today that she can't imagine herself fighting. If it were in my power, I'd make sure she'd never have to. She could be happy, living here on Earth, having a normal life. If I could make it so that she never had to see what I've seen, do what I've done... Her life would be less important in the grand scheme of things, but it would be _better_." She rubs her arms. "Do you understand what I mean? I don't know that I'm explaining myself great."

"You mean, you don't want your daughter to see all the shit that's out there in the galaxy," offers James.

Not exactly how Shepard would've put it – okay, maybe exactly how Shepard would've put it, if today hadn't thrown her so far out of orbit – but he got the gist of it. "Not that it's going to matter when the Reapers show up."

"Hey," says James, taking a few steps into the room, "she'll be okay. You warned her folks. You did the best you could."

"Yeah," says Shepard, but it's leaden.

"And didn't someone say we were going to kick their shiny metal asses the hell out of our galaxy?"

Raising an eyebrow up at him, she says, "I don't remember saying that."

"Well, not that exactly, no. But the feeling was there." He shuffles a little bit, face sheepish.

She stares up at him. "You know what James?"

Since he's suddenly put on the spot, he freezes. "What?"

"I think we're almost friends," she says, and means it.

His smile is slow to appear, but once it does, it covers his face. He actually looks pretty pleased with himself. "No shit," he says. "You might be right."

Shepard can't figure out when the hell it happened, but she can't manage to be upset about it either. She also can't help but smile back. Most peculiar of all, she's pleased with herself too.

* * *

_Thus concludes _Skin and Bone_. I would like to thank everyone who read, reviewed, followed and/or favourited. I have a sequel in the works - called _The Trade of Kings _- which will follow the events of ME3__._ _The first chapter should be up soon. I've got quite a few pages started on it, but it's still really rough. So keep an eye out or follow me if you're so inclined. Thanks again! _


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